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 THE LIBRARY 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 n
 
 POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 WALTER R. CASSELS. 
 
 LONDON : 
 SMITH, ELDER AND CO. 65, CORNHILL. 
 
 1856.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PBIMTED BY BICIIARD CLAY, 
 
 BREAD SXEEET HIIX.
 
 ^R 
 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 7AGB 
 
 Mabel 1 
 
 Hebe 31 
 
 Spring 35 
 
 The Bittekn 38 
 
 Gone 40 
 
 Beatrice ui Tenda 43 
 
 Serenade 51 
 
 The Eagle 53 
 
 Whither? 56 
 
 The Morning Star 53 
 
 The Delectable Mountains 60 
 
 The Dark River 63 
 
 WyTHAM Woods 66 
 
 The Star in the East 69 
 
 Under the Sea 75 
 
 Wind 77 
 
 A Challenge 79 
 
 At Parting 83 
 
 A Withered Rose-bud 84 
 
 De Profvndis 87 
 
 8 

 
 ir CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 TnE Mother 89 
 
 Sonnet — Datur iioiia quieti 98 
 
 Sea. Margins 99 
 
 Song — "Love took me softly by the hand" .... 101 
 
 The Bell 102 
 
 Llewellyn 105 
 
 A Sheli 125 
 
 The Raven U8 
 
 Sonnets on the Death of the Duke of Wellington . . 129 
 
 The Passage-birds 133 
 
 Memnon 137 
 
 A Conceit 140 
 
 The Land's End . . 141 
 
 The Olden Time 145 
 
 Father and Son " .... 147 
 
 Orion 150 
 
 The Golden Water 154 
 
 Years Ago 164 
 
 Vdlcan 167 
 
 Song — "The days are past" 109 
 
 Guy of Warwick 170 
 
 At Eventide 178 
 
 A Dirge 180 
 
 To MY Dream-Love 181 
 
 A Night Scene 184 
 
 Sonnet— "O Cloud so golden" 187 
 
 Floating down the Hiver IBS 
 
 Orpheus 1!)1 
 
 The Sculptor lys
 
 MABEL, 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONJD. 
 
 Oran, a Speculative Philosopher. 
 
 Mabel, Ms Wife. 
 
 Her Father. 
 
 Maurice, ") 
 
 Roger. ' y^' brothers.
 
 MABEL. 
 
 Scene I. — A Study. Boohs, pictures, and scidx>ture 
 about the room, interspersed with chemical and other 
 instruments, glohes, c&c.y a singidar blending of science 
 with art, indicating a delicate and speculative organiza- 
 tion in the arranger. 
 
 Oran, Maurice, and Roger. 
 
 ORAN. 
 
 Well, well ! and so ye deem I love her not. 
 Ye and the world that love so passing well ? — 
 That still I trifle with her briglit young life, 
 As the wind plays with some frail water-bell. 
 Wafting it wantonly about the sky, 
 Till at some harsher breath it breaks and dies ? 
 
 B 2
 
 M^iBEL. 
 
 MAURICE. 
 
 Nay, not thus far would our reflections go. 
 
 Friendship paints not with the foul hiush of Conscience ! 
 
 But thou, a man of dark and mystic aims. 
 
 Tracking out Science through forbidden wav^s, 
 
 Lea\ang the light and trodden paths to grope 
 
 'Mid fearful speculations and wild dreams, 
 
 May'st hunt thy Will-o'-the-wisp until thou lead'st 
 
 Our sister, all unwitting, to her death. 
 
 BOGER. 
 
 That shalt thou answer unto us. Thy life 
 Shall he to her life like the sun and shade. 
 Lost in one setting. 
 
 ORAN. 
 
 Ay ! thou sayest well — 
 Thou sayest well. How oft a random shaft 
 Striketh King Truth betwixt the armour-joints ! — 
 One life, one sun, one setting for us both, 
 
 Which way, then, tend youi' fears ? \Miat certain aim 
 Have all these strokes you level at my ways ?
 
 MABEL. 
 
 ROGER. 
 
 We say tliat you, against all light received, 
 
 Against all laws of prudence and of love, 
 
 Practise dark magic on our sister's soul — 
 
 That by strange motions, incantations, spells, 
 
 So work you on her spirit that strange sleep. 
 
 Sombre as Death's dark shadow, presently 
 
 Steals o'er her fragile body, didls her sense, 
 
 And wraps her wholly in its chill embrace ; 
 
 That thus, spell-bound, lost to the living world, 
 
 She lies till thou again unwind her chain. 
 
 And wak'st her feebly to this life of earth. 
 
 Thus dost thou peril her, thou blinded man ! 
 
 Sett'st her dear life against thy moonstruck thought. 
 
 And slay'st thy dove on Folly's altar-steps. 
 
 MAURICE. 
 
 Ay ! if you loved her, would your eyes have miss'd 
 The moonish faintness that o'erlaps her now. 
 Melting the fresh, full, ruddy glow of health 
 To loveliness most heavenly, yet most sad ? 
 Her cheeks, where youth once summer'd into roses. 
 Glow now with faint exotic loveliness,
 
 MABEL. 
 
 Not native to tliis harsh and gusty earth ; 
 And fi-om her large dark eyes there seems to gaze 
 Some angel ^-ith mute, melancholy looks, 
 As from a casement at this jarring world. 
 
 OR AN. 
 
 Ha ! then you too have seen it ; it is not, 
 
 O Heaven I — is not delusion, this fond dream, 
 
 But even now it works, works bliss for her. 
 
 Proceed, Sir . . . vou were saving .... Sir, I list 
 
 That in her eyes you saw angelic fire. 
 
 Pure from the dross, the dimming clouds of earth, 
 
 Deem'd now her frame ethereal, unakin 
 
 To earth's clay-moulded fabrics — such, perchance. 
 
 As entering heaven, might have left its dust 
 
 At the bright folding portals, sandal-like. 
 
 And thence, repassing in seraphic trance, 
 
 Still left unclaim'd the vesture at the gate ! 
 
 ROGER. 
 
 You glory in her weakness ! 'Tis too much — 
 Rash man, beware, a bitter end will come. 
 
 MAURICE. 
 
 1 fain would tliink that study hath o'erwTOUght
 
 MABEL. 
 
 Your heated brain to this short fever fit, 
 
 That soon may pass and leave your vision clear. 
 
 In truth, I note strange changes hi your mien — 
 
 A wandering glance, quick, restless eagerness, 
 
 Kapt snatches of deep thought, wherein the mind 
 
 Seems cleaving heaven with wild extatic wings ; 
 
 Your cheeks are pale, and all yom* neiTOus frame 
 
 Thi-ills 'neatli some strange enthusiastic touch. 
 
 Lay by your books awhile, and breathe again. 
 
 As in those days gone by, the countiy aii-. 
 
 The sweet, calm country an-, where perfiune floats 
 
 Like love that finds no heart so godlike large 
 
 Can clasp it wholl}' in its one embrace, 
 
 But overflows creation with its bliss. 
 
 Thus shall you quickly exorcise this madness. 
 
 And cleanse yom* brain of these pernicious dreams. 
 
 OEAN. 
 
 This madness ! I bethink me of the past. 
 Of all the great and noble who have toil'd 
 Amid the deep dark mines of burning thought, 
 Wearing out life to quaiTy forth the Truth ; 
 Of all the seers and watchers, early and late 
 Waiting with eager blood-hot eyes the light
 
 8 MABEL. 
 
 Rising afar in some untrodden East, 
 
 Full of divine and precious influence, 
 
 Calling, like Mezzuin from his minaret. 
 
 The thankless world to worship and be glad ; 
 
 Of all the patient thinkers of the earth 
 
 Who talk'd with AVisdom like familiar friends, 
 
 Until their voices unaccustom'd grew, 
 
 And men stared blankly at them as they pass'd : 
 
 I do bethink me of them all, and know 
 
 How each walk'd through his labyrinth of scorn, 
 
 And was accounted mad befoz'e all men. 
 
 But patience ! — Winter bears within its breast 
 
 The nascent seeds of golden harvest-time. 
 
 This only shall I tell you of my ways — 
 
 Straying, now here, now there, 'mid science' wealth, 
 
 I have discover'd a vast hidden power — 
 
 A power that perfected shall surely work 
 
 Great revolution iii all human laws, — 
 
 Where stop its courses I as yet know not ; 
 
 'Tis to me like the sun, that all the day 
 
 Shines godlike in my vision, ;uid, at night, 
 
 Though darkness hide its brightness, still, 1 feel, 
 
 Shines on in ^lory over other spheres ;
 
 MABEL. 
 
 It is a power beneficent and good, 
 
 That grants to spirit infinite control , 
 
 Over ali matter, and that fi'ees the soul 
 
 rrom its flesh shackles, and its sensuous means. 
 
 What else its influences, or for health, 
 
 For happiness, or blessing, I say not — 
 
 Save that such glimpses of vast powers unknown 
 
 Dawn on my wondering mind, that like a man 
 
 Standing upon some giddy pinnacle, 
 
 With a whole world seen faint and small below, 
 
 I close mine eyes for very fear and joy. 
 
 To her, my jNIabel, do I bear in love 
 
 Some first-fi-uits of my finding — make her rich, 
 
 That, gazing thi'ough her eyes, I may behold 
 
 How sweet is heaven, how dear is happiness. 
 
 This is the sum of that I work on her ; 
 
 Then, though I thank you for yom- good intent. 
 
 Leave me untroubled to my life of thought, 
 
 Leave her aU trustful in the arms of love. 
 
 BOGEE. 
 
 You love her not, false man ! your heart and soul 
 Are steep'd in science till not e'en the heel, 
 AchiUes-hke, is vulnerable left. 
 
 9
 
 10 MABEL. 
 
 Ay! wear thus feeling's semblance as you will, 
 Pale visionary I no more shall I pause, 
 But with strong hand arrest yoiu- mad career ! 
 Soon we retm'n arm'd with a father's power, 
 To snatch om- sister from yoiu- fearful arts. 
 
 MAURICE. 
 
 Oh! if you love her, Sir, as once you did — 
 
 If yet upon the dial of your life 
 
 Her sun mark out the short sweet hours of joy, 
 
 And all too swiftly on the shadows glide — 
 
 If yet you prize the loving heart you hold, 
 
 From this most mad delusion waken up, 
 
 That blindly blights her whom it seeks to bless ; 
 
 Cease your Utopian and unsafe essays. 
 
 And rather turn your studious care to call 
 
 The fading roses back into her cheeks, 
 
 And shed health's gladness on her feeble frame ; 
 
 Reflect whilst yet you may, lest late Eemorse 
 
 Stalk, ghost-like, through the chambers of your soid, 
 
 Haunting their gloomy void for evermore. 
 
 [^Exeunt Maurice and Roger.
 
 MABEL. 
 
 11 
 
 Scene II. — The same. 
 Oran. 
 
 OBAN. 
 
 Not love lier ! O my God ! thou knowest me — 
 Thou, looking through me as the sun at noon 
 That searches through the being of the world — 
 Thou setting life against thy glory light, 
 As men hold up a crystal 'gainst the sun, 
 Makiuo; its frame as nothing in the blaze ! 
 
 Lo ! jny heart was like a chaotic world. 
 Still, silent, 'mid the dreary waste of time. 
 Man there was not in all its desert bounds, 
 But hoary ruins of past wondrous things, 
 Old unbeUefs, fierce doubts, unsightly di-eams, 
 That wearing out their wild hot-breathing life. 
 Wearily stretch'd their withing shapes to die ; 
 Then came she moving o'er my awe-hush'd soul,
 
 12 MABEL. 
 
 Like God's own Spirit over earth's void watei-s, 
 And there arose order and life through all. 
 She was my sun, set high to rule the day, 
 And make my world all hright and beautiful ; 
 She was my moon, amid the stilly night 
 Subduing darkness with her quiet smiles, 
 And stealing softly through my anxious dreams, 
 A sweet-soul'd hostage for departed day ; 
 She was my summer, clothing all my life 
 With fragrant blossoms of delight and joy. 
 
 \_A pause. 
 Not love her ! 'Tis as yesterday the time 
 When first my love stole fainting to her ear. 
 In deep scarce-worded murmurs of desire. 
 'Twas evening, and above the weary land 
 Silence lay dreaming in a golden hush ; 
 The summer's sunset yellow'd in the wheat, 
 And the ripe year, with harvest promise full. 
 Slept on the wavy slopes and verdant leas, 
 Like one who through long hours of toil at last 
 Sees the glad work accomplish'd, and in peace 
 Flings him along the meadows to repose ; 
 Below, the bells of even faintly chimed. 
 And sent their liynnial music up the breeze
 
 MABEL. 
 
 13 
 
 To where I stood, half-praying, by her side. 
 
 Then all my words and thoughts that came and went, 
 
 Waving aoout the secret of my love, 
 
 Like billows plashing on a silent shore, 
 
 All at one gush flow'd from me o'er her heart, 
 
 And broke the banks of silence ; then my love 
 
 Sank tlu'ough her liquid eyes to read her soul, 
 
 Like diver that through waving water-floods 
 
 Seeketh the priceless pearl that lies below. 
 
 And there foimd life — found joy for evermore : 
 
 It is as yesterday that time to me, — 
 
 Sweet time, when love entwines the locks of life 
 
 With fragrant blossoms, like a one-hour's bride, 
 
 And claspeth summer with soft pleading arms, 
 
 That she, though ne'er so eager to be gone. 
 
 Still tarries smiling for a last embrace. 
 
 And drops her hoarded flowers upon the way : 
 
 It is as yesterday — my love the same — 
 
 The love that led me through all heavy tasks. 
 
 All lonely watehings by the midnight lamp. 
 
 To win the fame that still might shine on her ; 
 
 And e'en — how dear the thought ! — this wondrous power, 
 
 This godlike influence which has dawn'd on me, 
 
 Thus from my love takes colouring and aim !
 
 14 MABEL. 
 
 Not love her ! Well, well, I'll forget the word — 
 The sun shines on, though blind eyes see it not. 
 
 [_A pause. 
 It cannot be — this aim so deeply weigh'd, 
 So long and calmly sifted, cannot fail. 
 
 wondrous power ! great mystery of life ! 
 Resei-ved for me of all the sons of men ; 
 Fruit ripening high upon the wall of heaven 
 For me to pluck with eager, trembHng hands, 
 And press its vintage out for thirstiug worlds ! 
 More blessed still that into her sweet cup 
 First may I pour the clearest of the wine — 
 For her — ^for her — ah, yes ! for her supreme, 
 
 1 struggle onward through this blinding light. 
 E'en at whose dazzling threshold I might stand. 
 Pale, trembling, like a teiTor-smitteu soul. 
 Waiting bewilder'd at the gate of heaven. 
 
 Yet once again let me the plan re\-iew. 
 Searching within my soul of souls each part, 
 That doubt or danger, lurking there, may thus 
 By love's keen-scented instincts hunted be. — 
 
 [^1 long pause. 
 Yes ! it is so — this deep magnetic sleep, 
 That from my being passes upon her.
 
 MABEL. 15 
 
 Bindeth the body close in deepest thrall, 
 But setteth free the soiil. What real need 
 Hath spirit of these sensuous avenues, 
 Through w^ich the soul looks feebly on the world? 
 This power then opes the prison door awhile, 
 And sends the spirit chainless o'er the earth. 
 This know I — without eyes the spirit sees. 
 Gains instant cognizance of hidden things, 
 , And counts all space for nothing ; knowledge comes 
 Upon it with the falling of the flesh, 
 
 So that there is no thing in earth or heaven 
 
 But to the unhoused spiiit native is — 
 
 The mantle falls and leaves the Prophet angel ! 
 
 Body, then, is the prison-house of soul, 
 
 And freedom is its highest happiness, 
 
 Its heaven, its primal being full of joy. 
 
 This power that holdeth thus the keys of life. 
 
 Can then at will give moments of release, 
 
 "WTiich to the soul are as the water-brooks 
 
 That scantly rise amid a sun-scorch \1 waste : 
 
 These, oft repeated, must at length destroy 
 
 The thraldom of the flesh, and give at will 
 
 A freer issue to the practised soul — 
 
 At lowest gladden it with gleams of bliss.
 
 16 MABEL. 
 
 Glimpses of heaven amid this exile time. 
 
 Yes ! thus, my Mabel, shall thy prison'd soul 
 
 Rise to its sister angels heavenward still ; 
 
 And soon the mortal fetters shall hang loose, 
 
 Scarce clogging aught its motions glad and free. 
 
 Thus shall thy young fair frame no longer be 
 
 A prison, but a meetest dweUing-place, 
 
 Full of all infinite delights, and dear 
 
 As is its nest to the heaven-soaring lark, 
 
 That yearns down, singing, to it from the sky. 
 
 These men, did they not see it in thine eyes, 
 
 Amazed and fearful at the dazzling sight, 
 
 As some rude passer gazing up aloft 
 
 Sees from some casement, unawares, a face 
 
 That makes his great rough heart on sudden rock 
 
 With wonder and with worship — in her frame 
 
 Did they not see the mortal waxing fniiit. 
 
 The immortal fusing it with heavenly fire ? 
 
 Ay I the charm Avoi'ks, and thou, my life, my love, 
 
 Reapest the first-fruits of my long, long toil.
 
 MAEEL. 17 
 
 Scene III. — .4 Jioudoir. Flowers about it, in heau- 
 
 tifnlly shaped Vases. A Greenhouse at one end. The 
 
 window-2mnes delicately tinted, and hung with light 
 
 fleecy draperies. Mabel working, and singing in a 
 
 low voice. 
 
 MABEL (singing). 
 
 At night when stars shine bright and clear, 
 The soft winds on the casements blow, 
 And round the chamber rustle low, 
 
 Like one unseen, whose voice we hear 
 On tiptoe stealing to and fro — 
 
 At night when clouds are dark and drear. 
 They moan about the lattice sore. 
 And murmur sighs for evermore, 
 
 That fill us with a chilly fear. 
 
 Oft glancing at the well-barr'd door — 
 
 At night, in moonlight or in gloom, 
 
 They wander round the drooping thatch, 
 Like some poor exile thence to catch 
 
 Fond glimpses of each well-loved room, 
 And sigh beside the unraised latch—
 
 18 MABEL. 
 
 unseen Wind ! ai-t thou alone, 
 
 Thus breathing round the sleeping land ? 
 Or roams with thee a spirit baud, 
 
 Blending sad voices with thine own, — 
 
 Voices that once with cheerful tone 
 Made music round the sleeping land ? 
 
 OBAN {from the Greenhouse, unperceived). 
 
 Ah I her dear voice. How all my nature thi-ills, 
 My heart, my brain, beneath the mellow sound. 
 Like some great dome with holy music fill'd ! 
 She is the lark, above my listening soul 
 Hovering stiU with carols from Heaven's gate. 
 She is the perfumed breeze, that evermore 
 Sweeps music from the iEolian strings of life. 
 She is the sea, that fills with sweetest sound 
 The yearning earth that folds it in its arms. 
 Not love her — Ah ! dear heart, how utterly ! 
 
 \_A pmise. 
 
 What if amid these spirit Avanderings, 
 This so mysterious power can grant at will, — 
 WTiat if the angels, smitten with her grace, 
 Woo'd her away for ever from my heart ? 
 The dove came twice again unto the ark, 
 With messages of peace, and hope, and joy.
 
 MABEL. 19 
 
 But the thii'd time retum'd not. She 's my dove — 
 
 Oh ! wdng'd she ever from my longing heart, 
 
 The waters of my hfe would quick subside, 
 
 And leave ^me stranded on the shoals of Time. 
 
 "V\Tiat if God saw her hovering aloft, 
 
 And smiled her in amongst his cherubim ? 
 
 "VSTiat if the cbaught of bUss should, Lethe-like, 
 
 Blot me for ever from her memory. 
 
 So that she sought me never, never more ? 
 
 Oblivion ! take again this fearfiU power — 
 
 No more shall Fate be tempted with my wealth. 
 
 Lest covetous it rob me of my all. 
 
 [A pause. 
 And yet, these are but dreams, poor selfish fears. 
 That scum-like float and dim Love's limpid tide. 
 Shall I thus cage my bird from liberty. 
 And let it beat its life out on the bars, 
 Lest some dear bKss detain it in the heavens ? 
 Shall I spill raslily forth this wine of joy. 
 Because for me within the crystal cup 
 Some dregs may haply rest when she has drunk ? 
 Ah, no ! for her alone shall I take thought. 
 The first pure sacrifice of Love is self ! 
 There is no peril. God that sends the power 
 
 c 2
 
 20 MABEL. 
 
 Will send the guardian angel to direct, 
 
 I work for her — Heaven speed the work of love. 
 
 \_Enters the room. 
 
 MABEL. 
 
 I waited for thee, love— 'tis past the hour, 
 And on my dial slumhers Time in shade 
 "VMien thou comost not to sun me. 
 
 CHAN. 
 
 I but stood 
 There on the tlu-cshold, following thy voice 
 Away, away through mazy lengths of dreams. 
 Music — low music fi'om the lips we love, 
 Is the true siren that still lures the soul 
 From cares of earth to the Enchanted Isles. 
 
 MABEL. 
 
 Methinks that thou art sad to-day, my husband. 
 Let ifie share with thee pain as well as joy ; 
 It is the sweetest right that love can claim. 
 AVe give our joys to strangers, but our grief 
 Sighs itself only forth for those we love. 
 We hang oiu- sorrows on the loved one's ear, 
 Like jewell'd pendents for a bridal feast.
 
 MABEL. 21 
 
 ORAN. 
 
 Tell me, my Mabel, if ■within this sleep. 
 To which mine art oft leads thee, there should come 
 Some angel bright with Heaven's reflected light, 
 Wooing thee upward with the songs of bliss, — 
 Tell me, my Mabel, wouldst thou freely go, 
 Lea\ing tliis fair earth-vestm-e only here. 
 Leaving me lornly gazing on the sky. 
 Blotting its sim out with my blinding tears ? 
 
 SIABEL. 
 
 There is no ano-el but the ano-el Death 
 Could sever me from thee who art all my life ! 
 WTiat Heaven is there but that which Love creates ? 
 \\Tiat songs of Bhss, save those by Love intoned ? 
 Ah ! thou to me art as the sun to Day, 
 That dies out with its setting utterly — 
 Thou art the ever-flowing crystal spring. 
 That keeps the foimtain of my being full — 
 Thou art the heart that beats with measured pulse 
 The joyous moments of my flowing life — 
 Leave thee? How canst thou wi-ong me with the 
 thought ?
 
 22 MABEIi. 
 
 ORAN, 
 
 Dear Mabel !— Yet to-day thy brothers came, 
 Taxing me harshly, and in cruel terms, 
 With practising against thy precious life. 
 
 MABEL 
 
 Oh, Heaven ! 
 
 GRAN. 
 
 They dread these trances, whose dim fame 
 Hath floated on the ignorant air to them. 
 They deem this priceless power, new-fall'n on me, 
 And treasured for thy sake, my best beloved, 
 A most pernicious art, that may, perchance. 
 Work evil upon thee ; say, dost thou fear ? 
 My Mabel, hast thou faith and trust in me ? 
 Shall I proceed, or break this magic wand. 
 Wherewith they deem that I am dower'd withal ? 
 
 MABEL. 
 
 I trust in thee, my love, with perfect faith — 
 
 Am I not as the floating gossamer, 
 
 Steering through ether on thy guiding breath ?
 
 MABEL. 
 
 Am I not as the clay \\itbin thy hand, 
 
 Taking the shape and image of thy thought ? 
 
 Heed not these idle tongues, that launch their doubts 
 
 In erring l,ove against thy watchful care. 
 
 That which thou doest I accept with joy; 
 
 I wait for thee as waits a fuU-sail'd bark 
 
 The coming breeze to waft it o'er the sea. 
 
 OBAN. 
 
 Fear not ! I do well think no peril lies 
 Within this power, but virtue of rare worth, 
 Else nevermore its wand bad waved o'er thee. — 
 Tell me, dost bring no memory back to Earth 
 Of all these glorious wanderings above ? 
 No certain visions of the hidden things 
 Thou seest in that far mystic spirit-land ? 
 
 MABEL. 
 
 Nay ! it must be as thou dost tell me oft, 
 The soul doth lose its secrets at Earth's gate, 
 And all the blinding glories it hath knowTi 
 Shed but their mystic influence over life. 
 Therefore, it may be, 'tis I nought retain 
 Of that which passeth in these hours of trance. 
 
 23
 
 24 MABEL. 
 
 OEAN. 
 
 Yet strive ouce more to grasp the fleeting dreams, 
 Else shall I doubt that -which I fondly hope. — 
 Sleep, love, and let thy spirit hask awhile 
 In Heaven's ova\ sunshine ; — yet forget not me ! 
 
 \_Makes jiccsses over her, which shoHly sinh 
 her into a state of trance. 
 'Tis done ! she's free ! and now this lovely frame 
 Lies tenantless, a casket whose pui'e gems 
 Now sparkle 'mid the opal Hghts of Heaven. 
 This earth seems very lone and cold to me 
   Now she is absent, though a little space ! 
 My heart goes restless wandering around, 
 Seeldug her through old haunts and vacant nooks, 
 Like one who, waking from some troubled dream, 
 Findeth his love soft stolen from his side, 
 And sti-aightway seeketh in a dim amaze 
 All through the moonlight for her straying feet. 
 
 \_A pause. 
 Wliere art thou, O my dove ! about the sky ? 
 lluffling thy bieast across what honey breeze ? 
 Flashing white pinions 'gainst the golden sun. 
 That fain would nest thee on his ardent breast ?
 
 MABEL. 25 
 
 Art thou soft floating through the joys of Heaven, 
 With Earth far, for beneath thee, hke a star 
 Strugghug up thi'Oiigh the tremulous sea of hght. 
 That sucks its life down from the eye of day ? 
 
 r 
 
 About the gate of Heaven there floats my dove, 
 Fann'd by the breath of melodies divine ; 
 Opes there no casement soft to take her in, 
 And lay her in the bosom of delight ? 
 O dove, white dove, now at the gate of Heaven ! 
 Wilt thou wing homeward ere the eventide, 
 On shining pinions to thine own soft nest ? 
 
 \A pause. 
 
 O wondei-ful ! Thou mansion tenantless, 
 Unswept by memory, untrod by thought. 
 Where all lies tranced in motionless i-epose ; 
 No whisper stirring round the silent place, 
 No foot of guest across the startled halls, 
 No rustling robes about the corridors. 
 No voices floating on the waveless air, 
 No lauohters, no sweet sono-s like angel dreams 
 On silver \Aings among the ai'ched domes, — 
 No swans upon the mere — no golden prow. 
 Parting the crystal tide to Pleasure's breeze, —
 
 26 MABEL. 
 
 Xo flapping sail before the idle wind, — 
 
 Xo music pulsing out its gi'cat wild heart 
 
 In sweetest passion-beats the noontide through, — 
 
 No lovers gliding down sun-chequer'd glades, 
 
 In dreams that open wide the Eden gate, 
 
 And waft them past the guardian Seraphim. 
 
 Sleep over all the Present and the Past — 
 
 The Future standing idle at the gate, 
 
 Gazing amazed, like one who, in hot haste 
 
 Bearing great tidings to some palace porch, 
 
 Fiudeth the place deserted. 
 
 A noise tvithout ; enter in haste Father, 
 Maurice and Roger. 
 
 How now? — Friends, you arc welcome! 
 
 FATHER. 
 
 "WTiere's my child, 
 That you maltreat, most rash and guilty man ? 
 
 ORAN. 
 
 Sir, you are over hasty in your words — 
 Your child is here. — 
 
 [^Points to Mahel, who still lies entranced.
 
 MABEL. 27 
 
 FATHER. 
 
 Mabel ! wake, Mabel ! — O my God ! she's dead ! 
 
 MATJBICE. 
 
 How!— Dead! 
 
 EOGER. 
 
 A.y, murder' d ! 
 
 FATHER. 
 
 ! my child ! my child ! 
 
 GRAN. 
 
 Peace ! she is well — Sleep folds her in his arms, 
 And each upheaving of his drowsy breast 
 Is like a billow upon pleasm'e's sea, 
 Wafting her on to far Hesperides. 
 
 FATHER. 
 
 This is no healthy sleep that wraps her now, 
 Else would she waken at my anxious cry ; 
 'Tis death-sleep, wretched man.
 
 28 MABEL. 
 
 MAUBICE. 
 
 Let's bear her hence. 
 
 BOGEB. 
 
 Nay ! let him now unwind liis magic spells, 
 Or fall oiu- vengeance on liis guilty head. 
 
 on^VN. 
 
 Dismiss your fears, and cease your tlu'eats. Old man, 
 Soon shall I prove how much you wong my love ; 
 Thus do 1 call the spirit home again, 
 And wave the slumber backward from her eyes. 
 
 I]lfakes2ycisses to awaken her, but without 
 effect after long persistence. 
 
 FATHER. 
 
 Impostor ! woidd you mock e'en Death itself, 
 Calling it sleep ! — You see, Death mocks you back. 
 
 MAUBICE. 
 
 In vain ! no further seek to Ipliiid our fears. 
 
 OIIAX. 
 
 'Tis strange I . . stand back, Sirs .... 'tis your influence
 
 MABEL. 29 
 
 Hath neutralized my power — stand off, I saj! 
 
 [Continuing the passes in great agitation. 
 
 ' BOGEE. 
 
 By Heaven I — It is too much — Let fall the mask ! 
 villain ! you have done jom- worst at last, 
 And ta'en the sweetest life in all the land ; 
 But vengeance swift shall follow on your track. 
 
 Hold ! hold ! yoimg man, talk not of vengeance here; 
 This sleep shall pass and shame yom" blood-hot words — 
 If it pass'd not the vengeance were forestall'd. 
 
 \_A silence — continuing the 2^cisses. 
 O Mabel ! Mabel ! hear me where thou art ! 
 Come to the lonely heart that yearns for thee, — 
 Come to the eyes that seek thee through salt tears ! 
 Patience, Su's, now methinks the sense returns ; 
 A smile steals o'er her lips, and roseate hues 
 Make morning on her downy cheek again : 
 Back . . . back — my anguish shall unwind the charm! 
 
 \_A silence. 
 
 FATHER. 
 
 Sir, I acquit you — pity you — perceive
 
 30 MABEL. 
 
 You loved her, and have crr'd against yoiu'self ; 
 But cease these struffffles tliat but mock us now, 
 They nought avail — my cliild is dead ! . , . 
 
 OBAN. 
 
 Mabel! Mabel!
 
 HEBE. 
 
 Life's chalice is empty — pour in ! pour in ! 
 
 Wtat ? — ^Poiu- in Strength ! 
 Strength for the struggle thi-ough good and ill ; 
 Thiough good — that the soul may be upright still, 
 Unspoil'd by riches, imswerving in mil, 
 To walk by the light of imvarnish'd truth, 
 Up the flower-border'd path of 3'outh ; — 
 Thi'ough ill — that the soul may stoutly hold 
 Its faith, its freedom tlu'ough hunger and cold. 
 Steadfast and pm'e as the true men of old. 
 Strength for the sunshine, strength for the gloom. 
 Strength for the conflict, sti-ength for the tomb ; 
 Let not the heart feel a craven fear — 
 Draw from the fountain deep and clear ; 
 Brim up Life's chalice — pom* in ! pour in ! 
 Pom' in Streno'th ! 
 
 Life's chalice is empty — pour in ! poiu- in ! 
 ^Tiat?—Poui'm Truth!
 
 32 HEBE. 
 
 Drink! till the mists that enshroud the soul, 
 Like sleep's di'owsj shadows backward roll, 
 And show the spu-it its radiant goal, 
 That nought may blind it all its days. 
 Or tempt it down earth's crooked waj's ; 
 Drink ! till the soul in the eastern skies 
 Behold the glorious star arise. 
 That guides its steps to the promised prize ; 
 Drink! till the strong elixir fire 
 Each aim of the being with pure desire, 
 Nerve the courage to dare the world. 
 Though a thousand scoffers their airows hurlM ; 
 Brim up Life's chalice — pour in ! pour in ! 
 Pour in Truth I 
 
 Life's chalice is empty — pour in ! pour in ! 
 
 What ? — Pour in Love ! 
 To quench the tliirst of the longing heart, 
 Heal all its soitows with wondrous art, 
 And freshness and joy to its hopes impait; 
 To make the blossoms of life expand, 
 And shed their sweetness on every hand ; 
 To melt the frost of each sullen mood, 
 Cement the bond of true brotherhood,
 
 HEBE. 33 
 
 Subdue the evil of Time with good, 
 And join the hnks which death hath riven 
 Betwixt this fallen sphere and Heaven, 
 Kaising the soul above the sky- 
 On wings of Immortalitv. 
 Brim up Life's chalice — pour m ! pom* in ! 
 Pour in Love ! 
 
 Life's chalice is empty — pour in ! pour in ! 
 
 "WTiat ? — Pour in Hope ! 
 The soul looks out tlu'ough the coming years, 
 Blinded by doubts, and bhnded bj tears, 
 Sear'd with the iron of tyTant fears : — 
 Is there a break in Life's gloomy sky^? 
 Can the heart reach it before it die? 
 The path is weary, the desert wide, 
 And Sorrow stalks by the pilgrim's side — 
 Oh for a di'aught of Hope's crystal tide 
 To cheer the parch'd and fainting one. 
 Until his toilsome race be rim. 
 And the bright mu'age fall from the sky, 
 Displaced by a swreet reahty. 
 Brim up Life's chalice — pour in ! pour in ! 
 Poiu: in Hope ! 
 
 D
 
 34 HEBE. 
 
 Life's chalice is cniptj — pour in I pouv in ! 
 
 ^Miat ?— Pom- in Faith ! 
 "V^Tiat is Life's fabric, so nobly plann'd, 
 Its stately dome, and its ramparts grand, 
 If their foundation rest on the sand. 
 Ready to shift with Time's ebbing stream, 
 And melt away like a gorgeous dream? 
 God ! let us ti-ust Thee in very sooth. 
 Feel that the visions, the dreams of youth. 
 Its glorious hopes are all based on Truth ; — 
 Thus shall the pm-posc of Life grow clear ; 
 Love shall be freed fi-om the bondage of fear ; 
 And the soul calmly await the morrow 
 Untroubled by visions of coming sorrow. 
 Brim up Life's chalice — pour in ! pour in ! 
 Pour in Faith I
 
 SPEING. 
 
 On, like a giant, stalketh the strong- "Wind, 
 
 Wrapping the clouds about him, close and dark, 
 
 Rifting Creation's soul, for rage is blind, — 
 No pity hath he for the Earth all stark, 
 
 Shivering beneath the loose and drifting snow, 
 
 A scanty shroud to hide the dead below. 
 
 Dead ? There is Hfe within the mother's breast — 
 So claspeth she her young ones to her heart ; — 
 
 " The time will come — the time wUl come — rest ! rest ! 
 Let the mad greybeard to his North depart; 
 
 Earth shall aiise and mock him in his grave — 
 
 Patience a little, let the dotard rave ! " 
 
 D 2
 
 36 SPRING. 
 
 The palsied boughs grew still — there came a pause, 
 And Xatui'c's heart scarce beat for Usteuiug, 
 
 Gazing abroad from all the tempest-flaws, 
 
 "With prayerful longing for the saviom' Spring ; 
 
 And when she heard Spring coming up the sky, 
 
 Earth rose and thi'ew her sliroud off joj'fully. 
 
 Then she who once had wept like Xiobe, 
 
 Beheld her children springing round her feet, 
 
 Raising young voices in the early day, 
 
 That never to her ear had seem'd so sweet ; 
 
 And the soft murmur of a thousand rills 
 
 Proclaim'd how Spring had loosed them on the hills. 
 
 The bright Evangel came, girt round with mirth, 
 And garlanded with youth, and cro^\Ti'd with flowers 
 
 " Awake ! arise ! ye sons of the new birth. 
 And move to the quick measm-e of the hours ! 
 
 Summer is comuig — go ye forth to meet her, 
 
 \^'ith sweeteist hjniencal songs to greet her." 
 
 So there arose straightway a joyous train, 
 Gather'd by every nook and hedgerow shade. 
 
 That in its passage o'er the verdant plain, 
 'Still in the heart a thrilUng music made —
 
 SPBING. 37 
 
 Sweet pilgrims they of Love in youth's gay time, 
 Leading the yeai^ on to its golden prime. 
 
 The birds^ sang homage to her evermore ; 
 
 And myriad winged tilings, whose radiant dyes 
 Made sunshine beautiful, still hover'd o'er. 
 
 And bore her witness in the sunht skies ; 
 And rising from the tomb in glad amaze. 
 Came many a sainted flower to hymn her praise. 
 
 Thus fi'om the streams, and rivers, from the sea, 
 From the stirr'd bosom of the mighty hills, 
 
 From every glade there rose continually 
 A blessing for her, till with joyous thrills 
 
 Earth's bosom heaved, and in man's heart a voice 
 
 Echoed the anthem — '' Spring is come ! Ecjoice ! "
 
 THE BITTERN. 
 
 The reeds arc idly waving o'er the marshy gi-ound, 
 The rank and ragged herhage rots on many a mound, 
 And desolate pools and marshes deadly lie around. 
 
 There is no life nor motion, save the winds that fly 
 With the close-muffled clouds in silence tlu-ough the sky, 
 There is no soiuid to stir it, save the Bittern's cry ; 
 
 The Bittern, sitting sadly on the fluted edges 
 
 Of pillars once the prop and pride of palace ledges. 
 
 Now smcar'd with damp decay and sunk in slimy sedges ; 
 
 Shattcr'd and sunken, with the sculptured architrave 
 
 Peering above the surface of the sluggish wave. 
 
 Like a gaunt limli tluust fleshless from a shallow grave. 
 
 The Bittern sitteth sadly on the time-worn stone, 
 Upon life's mouldering reUcs, fearfully alone. 
 Scaling the silence ofttimcs with his solemn tone.
 
 THE BITTERlSr. 39 
 
 The Bittern — monarch of the sad and dreary place, 
 Mocking the pride and pageant of a ruin'd race, 
 "VMiose very name's forgotten, and whose deeds have left 
 no trace. 
 
 The pleasant songs of peace, the lute, the lover's sigh, ' 
 The statesman's eloquence, the wamor's battle-cry 
 Have pass'd, — and like their echo from the heedless sky. 
 The lonely Bittern's note comes sadly floating by. 
 
 Oh, melancholy sound ! Shall thus for ever end 
 The glory and the greatness wliither all hopes tend, 
 And as the Past comes boomino; shall the Present wend ? 
 
 o 
 
 No ear to listen to the old and hard-earn'd glory. 
 
 That wore the heart out, made the locks grow scant and 
 
 hoary, 
 No ear to listen, and no tongue to tell the story ! 
 
 The Bittern sitteth 'midst the marshes of the Past, 
 Sitteth amidst the ruins, whilst the hom-s fleet fast. 
 And at his own hoarse cry he looketh round aghast. 
 
 The hom-s fleet fast unnoted, and the time is nigh, 
 "Wlien even he on noiseless wings shall soar on high, 
 Till his deep note is lost amid the azure sky.
 
 GONE. 
 
 The night is dark, and evermore 
 
 The thick di'ops patter on the pane ; 
 
 The wind is wearv of the rain, 
 And round the thatches moaneth sore ; 
 
 Dark is the night, and cold the air ; 
 
 And all the trees stand stark and bare, 
 With leaves spread dank and sere below, 
 
 Slow rotting on the plashy clay, 
 
 In the God's-acre far away, 
 "VMierc she, O God ! lies cold below — 
 Cold, cold below ! 
 
 And many a bitter day and niglit 
 
 Have pour'd their storms upon her breast, 
 And chiird her in her long, long rest, 
 
 With foul corruption's icy blight ; 
 
 Earth's dews are freezing round the heart, 
 ^^^lere love alone so late had part ;
 
 GONE. 
 
 And evennore the frost and snow 
 
 Ai-e biuTowing downward thi'ough the clay, 
 
 In the God's-acre far awa;y, 
 Where she, O God ! lies cold below, — 
 Cold, cold below ! 
 
 Those eyes so ftdl of light are dim ; 
 
 And the clear chalice of her youth, 
 
 All sparkling up with love and truth, 
 Hath Death di-ain'd keenly from the brim ; — 
 
 No more can moiial ear rejoice 
 
 In the soft music of her voice ; 
 No wistful eye, thi-ough tears of woe, 
 
 Can pierce down through the heavy clay, 
 
 In the God's-acre far away, 
 Where she, O God ! hes cold below, — 
 Cold, cold below. 
 
 A star shines, sudden, from the sky — 
 God's angel cometh, pui-e and bright, 
 Making a radiance through the night, 
 
 Unto the place where, mute, I lie, 
 Gazing up in rapt devotion. 
 Shaken by a deep emotion ; 
 
 41
 
 42 GoyrF.. 
 
 Ajid my thoughts no longer go 
 Wandering o'er the plashj clay, 
 In the God's-acre far away, 
 
 "VMiere she, O God ! lay cold below — 
 Cold, cold below ! 
 
 God's angel ! ah ! divinely bright ! 
 But still the olden grace is there — 
 The soft brown eyes — the raven hair — 
 
 The gentle smile of calm dehght, 
 
 That could such peace and joy impart— 
 The veil is rent from off my heart, 
 
 And gazing upM^ard, well I know 
 The rain may beat upon the clay 
 In the God's-acre far away ; 
 
 But she no longer lies below, 
 
 Enshi'ouded by the frost and snow — - 
 Cold, cold below !
 
 BEATEICE DI TENDA. 
 
 1. 
 
 It was too sweet — such dreams do ever fade 
 
 When Sorrow shakes the sleeper from his rest — 
 
 Life still to me hath been a masquerade, 
 
 Woe in Mirth's wildest, gayest mantle di-est, 
 
 With the heart hidden — but the face display'd. 
 
 But now the vizard droppeth, crush'd and torn, 
 And there is nought left but some tinsell'd rags, 
 
 To mock the wearer in the face of morn, 
 
 As through the gaping world she feebly drags 
 
 Her day-born measure of I'eproach and scorn. 
 
 But that his hand should pluck the dream away — 
 
 And thus — and thus — O Heaven ! it strikes too deep ! 
 
 The knife that wounds me, if not meant to slay, 
 Stumbles upon my heart the while I weep : 
 
 So be it ; no hand of mine its course shall stay.
 
 44 BEATRICE DI TENDA. 
 
 False ? false to him ? Eelease me — let me go 
 Before Heaven's judgment-seat to make appeal ; 
 
 Unfold the records of this life, and show 
 All that the secret pages can reveal, 
 
 That Heaven and Earth the inmost truth may know ! 
 
 He cannot think it in his heart of hearts ; 
 
 He cannot wear this falsehood in his soul, 
 Or deem me perjur'd ; no delusive arts 
 
 Can make him blot my name from honom"'s scroll : 
 The sun will shine forth when the cloud departs. 
 
 Patience, my heart ! Error is quick, but Truth 
 Moves slowly, but moves surely up the earth, 
 
 Wiping from age the heresies of youth, 
 
 And kmdling warmth on the once blasted hearth : 
 
 Patience, my heart ! and rage will turn to ruth. 
 
 There is no blush upon my l>row, though tears 
 Are in mine eyes, and sorrow in my heart ; 
 
 Tliis sobbing breast heaves not with traitor fears : 
 No sighs for sin are these that sadly start, 
 
 And bear their bitter bm-dcn to thine ears.
 
 BEATRICE DI TENDA, 45 
 
 And thougli my woman's strength bend like a reed 
 
 Before the flowing of Affliction's river, 
 Not, not for shame, nor for one strumpet deed 
 
 Doth this weak fi-ame bow down, or faintly quiver, 
 As I stand forth alone m deadly need. 
 
 Xo ! before thee, FiUppo, and the world. 
 
 Cased m its petty panoply of scorn, 
 With m)Tiad sla^dsh hps in mocking curl'd. 
 
 Spotless and innocent, though most forlorn, 
 Here stand I, 'gainst the shafts Falsehood hath hm-l'd. 
 
 Coufess'd ! Confcss'd the guilty act ! AYhat act ? 
 
 What act, my Lord, that cometh home to me 
 Closer than each hot word, by torment rack'd. 
 
 Flies at the bidding of false tpanny. 
 That makes at will the pain-wi-ung falsehood fact ?
 
 46 BEATRICE DI TEXDA. 
 
 There are full many sins confess'd, my Lord, 
 
 In pain of body and in pain of soul ; 
 Some fi'om the heart unearth'd by fire and sword, 
 
 And stealing foi1h amid the spirit's dole, 
 "With fiery pain-aweat seething every word ; 
 
 But none, my Lord, that riseth to the sky, 
 Bears guilt of mine upon its bUster'd tongue ; 
 
 Though torture's fire is quick to forge a lie, 
 
 None from these Avoman's lips could ere be wrung ; 
 
 No ! none, though on the rack -bed bound to die. 
 
 Poor youth ! This poison from his writhing throat. 
 Those hellish instruments have haply drawn. 
 
 And pain hath conn'd the aspish hes by rote ; 
 But to my heart no poison'd tooth hath gnawn. 
 
 For in its pulses lies Truth's antidote. 
 
 These limbs, my Lord, can do their task no more ; 
 
 The rack hath crush'd them in its vnld embrace, 
 So that TiTith's firm-set attitude is o'er, 
 
 Else had I met my judges face to face, 
 And challenged justice, as in days of yore
 
 BEATBICE DI TENDA. 47 
 
 Yet is the spirit strong within me still, 
 
 And bears me up though manhood's strength succumb, 
 Unbent by any blighting blast of iU, 
 
 Through fiery trials, to all false witness dumb ; 
 They cannot stain me, though perchance they kill ! 
 
 I am a woman — weak to combat wTong, 
 
 But innocent, my Lord, I live or che ; 
 And silent, though my God doth tarry long, 
 
 He sees me throughly ^Adth His holy eye. 
 And in my sore, sore need, doth make mc strong. 
 
 This hapless youth ! I do forgive him all ; 
 
 E'en now remoi'se must rankle in his breast, 
 And no cool comfort cometh at his call. 
 
 To set the tiunult of liis soid at rest : 
 God's pity on liis human weakness fall !
 
 48 BEATRICE DI TEXDA. 
 
 Nay, falter not, good friend ; thy news is sweet ; 
 
 Thanks, thanks ! Ay, sweet as is the welcome wind 
 That wafts the cahn-lock'd seaman, smooth and fleet. 
 
 O'er tropic seas unto his sigh'd-for Ind ; 
 Ay ! Death will hring rest to my weary feet ! 
 
 'Tis strange — but now the word falls on mine ear 
 
 Soft as the singing of a little child, 
 Heaven's music on light puiions floateth near, 
 
 Thi'ough all the strife of Earth, so harsh and ^^•i]d ; 
 Time's stream is rippling on its marges clear. 
 
 The end is nigh — the end of grief and pain, 
 And Life's broad gates arc opening to my soul ; 
 
 O'er my weak heart no more shall sorrow reign, 
 Enfranchised soon 'twill sj)m'n the harsh control. 
 
 And never feel its empiry again.
 
 BEATRICE DI TEND A. 49 
 
 iS^o more, Filippo, shall my hapless life 
 
 Stand betwixt thee and pleasure, — Duty's knot 
 
 Shall soon be sever'd by the headsman's knife ; 
 And upon memory one crimson blot 
 
 Shall be the record of a spotless wife. 
 
 'Tis well ! I would not wander through a haunted mind, 
 Ghost-like and fearful in the evening hom's ; 
 
 Would God that I could leave my peace behind, 
 To bless thee when the niglit of sorrow lours, 
 
 And thou art rifted by Affliction's wind ! 
 
 Shouldst thou awake M-hen I have pass'd away, 
 Shouldst thou see clear the error and the wrono-. 
 
 And Truth break on thee with its dazzling ray. 
 As sure it will, for Innocence is strong. 
 
 Then may my prayers thine every pang allay ! 
 
 For thee, poor youth, — go not unto the grave 
 AVith a red lie upon thy trembling tongue — 
 
 Not for mj-self, l)ut for thy soul T crave, — 
 
 Death's champions should have sinews tightly strung, 
 
 And thou wilt falter where I shall be brave.
 
 50 BEATRICE DI TENDA. 
 
 In that dim world tliere flows no cooling stream. 
 
 Kg Lethe for the guilty and the fever'd, 
 There is no answer to their parching scream, 
 
 From hope and mercy they ai'c ever sever 'd, 
 There is no waking fiom their spectral dieam. 
 
 Then pause or e'er thou stampcst on thy soul 
 
 Eternally such misery as thine, 
 And writcst on God's conscience-Wasting scroll, 
 
 A wife's dishonour, and a tarnish'd line. 
 To weigh for thee thine everlasting dole 
 
 Friend, let thine arm be stx'ong, good sooth there's need, 
 Thou cuttest through a weary depth of woe ! — 
 
 Well ! that will pass, and soon rest come indeed, — 
 Ay, ay ! the robe 's M'hitc now . . will 't long he so ? . . 
 
 Yet better for the crimson tide should flow, 
 Than the heart inly with its anguish bleed.
 
 SEKEXADE. 
 
 The day is fading from the sky, 
 
 And softly shines the Star of Even, 
 As watching with a lover's eye 
 
 The rest of Earth the peace of Heaven ; 
 The dew is rising cool and sweet. 
 
 And, zeplm'-rock'd, the flowers are closing, 
 The !Night steals on with noiseless feet, 
 
 Oh I gentle be my love's reposing. 
 
 The streamlet, as it flows along. 
 
 Sounds like a voice 'mid childhood's slumbers ; 
 And from the brake the Queen of Song 
 
 Pours forth her softest, clearest numbers ; 
 And ever through the stirless leaves 
 
 The summer moon is brightly sti'eaming. 
 Light fancies on the sward it weaves, — 
 
 As radiant be my lady's dreaming. 
 
 e2
 
 52 SRREXADr. 
 
 The silent hours move swiftlv on, 
 
 With many a blessed vision laden, 
 That all the night has softly shone 
 
 Upon the heaits of youth and maiden ; 
 And now, in golden splendors drest, 
 
 The new-born day is gladly breaking, 
 Oh ! blissful be my lady's rest. 
 
 And sweet as Morn be her awaking.
 
 THE EAGLE. 
 
 The winds sweep by liim on his nioinitain tlii'oue, 
 Hurling the clouds together at his feet, 
 Till Earth is hidden, lost, and swallow'd up 
 As in the flood of Avaters, — and lie sits 
 Eveino; the boundless firmament above, 
 Proud and um-uffled, till his heart exclaims, — 
 " I am a god, Heaven is mv home, — the Earth 
 SeiTeth me but for footstool." 
 
 The strong winds 
 Sweep on, and wide his pinions spreadeth he, — 
 " Bear me afar ! " and on the mighty storm 
 He rides triumphant, spm-ning the dim Earth — 
 "^liither, O whither goest thou ? AYhat star 
 Shall raise its mountains for thee ? ^Miat far orb 
 Echo the fierceness of thy battle-cry ?
 
 54 TUE EAGLK. 
 
 AMiat dost thou when the tluiiulcr is unloosed? 
 "■ I sit amongst the crags, and feel the Earth 
 Tremble beneath me, whilst my heart is firm. 
 I gaze upon the hghtning, and my lid 
 Quivers not. Is their aught 'neath which my gaze 
 Quaileth, or waxeth faint — I read the sun 
 Undazzled where the stars grow dim and pale. 
 
 " Men gather them to battle — host meets host — 
 And I am borne aloft to marshal them, — 
 I, the great King of Battles, that go forth 
 Conquering and to conquer. So do men 
 Worship me. Oh ! the mighty crash ascends, — 
 The shoutings, and the glory, and the woe, 
 One eroat full chaunt of homage to mine ears, — 
 And there T wait the while the sacrifice 
 Is slain before nic ; tlK'ii down with a swoop 
 I get me from my skyey throne, and dye 
 Deep in the ruddy stream my talons grey — 
 Hurrah ! liunali 1 l.luoil red's the flag for me !" 
 
 The time will come, proud one, when thou slialt die ! 
 " Die ! Death I cast from me as these loose plumes 
 That moult out from my pinions — let them go
 
 THE EAGLE. 55 
 
 To Earth, and Death go with them, both I leave 
 To mortals. "VMiat have I to do mth Time ? 
 Let him put forth his speed — these wings of mine 
 Shall match him stroke for stroke, until we reach 
 The limits of his empire, and I shake him otf 
 Like dust upon the threshold of the world."
 
 WIIITIIER ? 
 
 Whither awav, voutli, whither awav, 
 With lightsome stop, and with joyous heart, 
 And eyes that Hope's gay glances dart ? 
 
 ^^^lither away — whither away ? 
 
 Into the world, the glorious world, 
 To gain the prize of the brave and bold, 
 To snatch the crown from the age of gold — 
 
 Into the world — into the world ! 
 
 ^Miithcr away, cirl, Avhither awav? 
 Thy soft l)lue eyes are suffused with love. 
 And thy smile is as bright as the sunshine above,- 
 
 AVhither away, whitheir away ? 
 
 Into the world, the beautiful world. 
 To meet the heart that must mate with mine, 
 And make the measure of life divine, — 
 
 Into the world, into the world.
 
 WHITHER ? 57 
 
 Whither away, old man, whither away, 
 With locks of white, and form bent low. 
 And trembhng hands, and steps so slow ? 
 
 Whither away, — whither away ? 
 
 Out of the world, Oh ! the weary world, 
 With its empty pleasures, and poison'd joys, 
 \^liose draught first gladdens, and then destroys — 
 
 Out of the world, out of the world. 
 With shatter'd hopes, and with feeble frame. 
 From Life's sharp struggle, and unsped aim, — 
 
 Out of the world. Oh ! the weary world. 
 
 Wliither away, poor one, whither away ? 
 Hunying swiftly, with weeping eyes. 
 And hectic cheeks, and smother'd sighs, 
 
 AMiither away — whither away? 
 
 
 Out of the world, Oh ! the cold, cold world ! 
 Oh ! Father, my heart .... but there is rest 
 For the sinking soul, and the bruised breast. 
 
 Out of the world — out of the world !
 
 TIIE MOEXIXG STAB. 
 
 Night's heavy hand is hfted up at last, 
 Aiul my freed heart beats evenly again, 
 Unpress'd by that dull heavy weight of pain 
 
 Cast backward from the unforgotten Past ; 
 
 Darkness no longer muffles Time's slow tread, 
 Till my own pulse-beat mark the moment fled. 
 
 Over the speeding shadows, calm and clear, 
 Rises the Star of Morn upon the Earth, 
 Eternal Prophet of the Sun-god's birth, 
 
 Shining serenely from its silver sphere 
 
 !Mute mystic meanings on the strengthen'd soul, 
 Till all its night-bred vapours backward roll. 
 
 Oh, bright-eyed Angel of the undimm'd Light, 
 Standing upon Heaven's pinnacle, thy glance 
 Pierces like two-edged sword through many a trance, 
 
 Dividing Truth from Dreaming in it.-? might,
 
 THE MORNING STAK. OO 
 
 Scourging Doubt's myriads fi'om Day's tomple-gate. 
 Leaving Life's worship pure, its heart elate. 
 
 No herald thou of Night, like Hespcr fair, 
 
 Pale with the di-eaded Futiu-e's shapeless gloom, 
 
 Leading the spirit to an unknown doom, 
 Through clouds and darkness heavy fraught with care, 
 
 Hesper the beautiful alone our guide. 
 
 Beset by blinding fears on every side. 
 
 Groping through Night's dim chambers wearily, 
 Longing to leave its cold sepulchral aisles, 
 Comest thou with thy calm assuring smiles, 
 
 Like Nemesis to lead us tenderly 
 
 Through all the dangers of the miu-ky way. 
 Unto the golden portals of the Day. 
 
 Yea ! Night and Death shall pass avray, and we, 
 By resmTcction sweet, arise new-born 
 Like thee in glory, bright one, Sons of Morn, 
 
 Without a shade on our felicity, 
 
 Eyeing the fleeting vapours of the Past, 
 
 As thou dost now Night's mists dissolving fast.
 
 THE DELECT^VELE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 Ho"\v light ami pleasant is the way 
 Across this quiet vallc}', whose soft mead 
 Springs lightly as the air that angels tread, 
 
 Beneath our footsteps weariless all day ! 
 This crystal I'iver flowing by oin- side, 
 One stream of sunshine, still has seem'd a guide 
 
 From Heaven in pure angelical array. 
 
 These purple mountains now are nigh, 
 That all the valley through have fill'd our eyes 
 With day-dreams of the distant Paradise, 
 
 Their sun-surrounded summits can descry — 
 We mount them now u})on Hope's bounding wing. 
 That makes each short swift footstep long to sjniug 
 
 Suddenly upward to the shadeless sky.
 
 THK DELECTABLE MOUXTAIXS. Gl 
 
 The air methinks is liohtev here — 
 And the breast heaves with full iintrammeird case. 
 Drinking the life-draught of the fragrant breeze. 
 
 That wafts its soul-sighs to another sphere. 
 Earth groweth little in our eves, but fair. 
 Fair as though sin had never enter'd there — 
 
 Earth groweth little as Heaven draweth near. 
 
 This rock — and then at last we stand 
 Upon the silent summit — scarce I dare 
 Gaze outAvavd, thi'ough the clear and azure air, 
 
 Towards the radiance of the Promised Land : 
 I am so weak and fallen, friend, I fear 
 Mine eyes will dazzle, and the light appear 
 
 Darkness, so that I shall not see the Promised Land. 
 
 Look thou afar, and tell me true 
 A^Tiat thou discernest ! — Oh ! ni}' ejes grow dim , 
 And floods of golden glories seem to swim, 
 
 Wave upon wave, tlu'ough all the cloudless blue, 
 Blinding me with their sunnj splendors quite. 
 So that, amid the pure excess of light, 
 
 But vaguest visions faintlj glimmer through.
 
 G2 THE DELECTABLE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 Yet now, niothinks, I seem to see 
 One spot of bmniing brightness, beaming clear 
 Through all the floating glorj, like a sphere 
 
 Quenching light with its own intensity. 
 Yes ! yes ! it is the Holy City I behold, 
 With God's sun, from its towers of burnish'd gold, 
 
 Reflected broadly through immensity ! 
 
 I must gaze out, although I die: 
 Ah ! yes, I sec it through my longing tears — 
 A great clear glow of glory there appears, 
 
 Like a ligl it-fountain in the eastern sky, 
 That as I gaze pours forth its living light, 
 Flooding Creation, till the dazzled sight 
 
 Sees Heaven in all thino's that around it lie. 
 
 So shall it ever henceforth be — 
 Who, that discerneth once God's dwelling-place, 
 Can blot from vision the refulgent trace ! 
 
 Ay ! hencefoith all things shall be Heaven to me- 
 And as I journey on shall brightly rise 
 Divinest semblances of Paradise — 
 
 Heaven mine in Tim(! and in Eternity.
 
 THE DAKK EIVEE. 
 
 Across the mountains and the hills, 
 Across the valleys and the swelling seas, 
 
 By lakes and rivers whose deep mm-mur fills 
 Earth's dreams with sweet prophetic melodies, 
 
 Together have we come luito this place. 
 
 And here we say farewell a little space : 
 
 You, backward tiu-ning through the land, 
 To taiTy 'mid its beauty yet awhile — 
 
 I, o'er the River, to another strand 
 With cheerfid heart, so part we with a smile. 
 
 Shall space have any power o'er god-like souls ? 
 
 Love shall bridge o'er the stream that 'twixt us rolls ! 
 
 Together wend we to the tide, 
 And as the first wave wets my foot, we part ; — 
 
 E'en now methinks I see the other side ; 
 And, though the stream be swift, a steady heart
 
 CA THE D.VHK RIVKR. 
 
 And stalwart arm shall quell its cold dark waves. 
 Faith falters not e'en when the tempest raves. 
 
 Dark stream flowing so blackly on, 
 Thy turbid billows roll o'er ooldon sands ; 
 
 Beneath the surface all thy fear is gone, 
 And precious gems fill full the diver's hands. 
 
 Yet how the heart lists breathless for the roar 
 
 Of billows plashing on the other shore ! 
 
 The other shore ! — Oh thou dim liand ! 
 Hid by foint mists from the spent swimmer's eyes, 
 
 Until upon the sloping bank he stand. 
 Mute in the light of Eden -mysteries ; 
 
 Thou golden Ophir of Youth's spirit-dream, 
 
 Shall I then reach thee throuoli this turbid stream ? 
 
 Friend ! cpiail not I This same gloomy tide 
 Rolling its fearful breakers to the shore, 
 
 Shall be transform'd. upon the other side, 
 Into the crystal Life-stream, shaded i/er 
 
 By Paradisal groves, whose mellow fruit 
 
 Shall heal the son-ows of ihe destitute
 
 THE DAEK RIVER. 65 
 
 These ghostly vapoiu's, brooding low, 
 Shall melt to sunny glories o'er my head, 
 
 And through them shall the golden city glow, 
 Whither I hasten singing, angel-led ; 
 
 Friend ! there is but a cloud-veil 'twixt us and the light. 
 
 One step beyond, and Heaven is in oui" sight. 
 
 Now the stream laps my vestm'e hem ; 
 Back thou from my sad bosom to the world, 
 
 Leaving me here this current cold to stem ; 
 Soon from thy sight shall I be swiftly whirl'd 
 
 Into the mystic darkness — never fear ! 
 
 God's hand shall guide me unto vision dear, 
 
 Ah'eady thou art growing dim. 
 And distant on the fast receding shore ; 
 
 The tide is strong, but still I trust in Him, 
 And know that I shall safely struggle o'er. 
 
 For now the plash on yonder shore I hear, 
 
 Amid sweet angel voices calm and clear.
 
 WYTHAM WOODS. 
 
 'jVIid the waving Woods of W}i:liam, 
 Now so far, so far from me, 
 Where the grand old beeches be, 
 And the deer -herds feeding by them : 
 'Mid the mossy Woods of Wytham, 
 ^ Oft I roam in memory ; 
 
 Down the gTand wide-arching alleys, 
 Marged by plumy ferns and flowers, 
 Whence all thiough the noontide hours 
 
 Many a fearless leveret sallies; 
 
 For amid those grassy alleys 
 
 Never homid nor huntsman scours. 
 
 Still I see, through leafy casements, 
 Wytham Hall so quaint and old, 
 Remnant of the age of gold,
 
 WYTHAir -WOODS. 07 
 
 Gabled o'er fi'um roof to basement 
 In most fanciful enlacement, 
 
 Looking far o'er wood and wold ; 
 
 With the mere outspread before it ; 
 
 Whitest swans upon its tide, 
 
 That in mj^stic beauty glide ; 
 And the wild fowl flapping o'er it, 
 To the reeds that broadly shore it, 
 
 Spear-like, on the sunny side. 
 
 Through the waving Woods of Wytham, 
 
 Now so far, so far from me, 
 
 ^Miere I roam in memory ; 
 'Mid the leaves, or flashing by them, 
 Like sunshine to glorify them. 
 
 On my sunless heart gleams she. 
 
 Falling like the di-eams of summer, 
 
 Making holy all the place. 
 
 Visions of that sweet pale face. 
 Sweeter than all di-eams of summer, 
 Dearer than all dreams of summer. 
 
 Still in bower and glade I trace ! 
 F 2
 
 (Jb WYTHAM \rOOT)S. 
 
 Still her eyes come deeply g-lowing- 
 
 Tlu'ough the leafy lattices ; 
 
 And the rustle of the trees, 
 'Xertth the west M'iiid softly blowing. 
 Only emulates tlie flowing- 
 
 Of her love-tonetl melodies. 
 
 Oh ! those waving Woods of Wythara — 
 Ceased she thus to hover near, 
 Radiant from her happy sphere, 
 Like sunshine to glorify them, 
 Never would 1 ^^ ander nigh them — 
 INIiuUy weeping should I fiy them, 
 Till their memory e'en grew sere. 
 
 But ah ! no, in endless summer. 
 
 Roams my heart through ^^'ytham \^' oods. 
 Meeting in their solitudes 
 
 Evermore that angel comer, 
 
 Sweeter than the light of summer 
 ^Slaking golden '\^'ytllam Woods, 
 
 Now so for, so for from me 
 
 in the world of Memoi'v.
 
 THE STAR IN THE EAST. 
 
 O'er the wide world I wander evermore, 
 
 Tlu'ougli wind and weather heedless and alone, 
 Alike through summer, and through winter hoar, 
 On cloud-capt mountain, hy the sca-wash'd shore. 
 Seeking the star that riseth in the East. 
 
 O'er the wide world — the world that knows not whv, 
 
 And stares with stupid scorn to see me go ; 
 Whilst I with solemn secret face pass h}^, 
 To laugh in desert spots where none are nigh, 
 Laugh loud and shriU unto the winds. Ho ! Ho ! 
 For that which none but I and it do know. 
 
 To think how when I find this lucky star. 
 
 And stand beneath it, like the Wise of old, 
 I shall mount upward on a golden car. 
 Girt round with glory unto worlds afar, 
 
 Wliile Earth amazed the wonder shall behold, 
 That bears me unto happiness untold !
 
 70 THE STAE IN THE EAST. 
 
 Hush ! ni not whisper It, lest some shoukl hoai-. 
 
 And hurry on before nic to the spot, 
 Leaving mc bound for ever to this sphere, 
 Parted for ever from my child — I here, 
 
 Slie in the reahn that I conkl enter not. 
 
 Husli ! I must liurry on — for many nights 
 Have I sought for the star about the sky, 
 And found it not amid the myriad hghts, 
 Greater and k'sser with their satelhtes. 
 Flashing confusedly upon mine eye. 
 
 I mus.t iniravel every golden hair 
 
 Upon the brow of Night for what I seek, 
 liift every straggler from its moony laii', 
 liest too the star should haply linger there, 
 Unnoted by mine eyes so faint and weak. 
 
 For as the ^V^se Men did in old time trace 
 The Holy Child by this same guiding star, 
 
 So I know well that by the Virgin's grace, 
 
 1 too l)y it shall come unto the place 
 
 Whore my sweet babe and its nurse-angels are.
 
 THE STAR IN THE EAST. 71 
 
 Wearisome ai-e the days, they mock me so, 
 
 Pourino- down light that seems to bid me see, 
 Yet liides the starry pilot by its glow, 
 WTiose light I thirst for, whilst light-fountnins flow 
 Aroimd me like the swelUng of the sea. 
 
 Wearisome are they, till the smi-god pales 
 
 Beneath the sm-gos of the western wave, 
 And the last fold of his .golden mantle trails 
 O'er the horizon where Earth's \asion fails, 
 
 And space becomes a darkness and a grave. 
 
 I ofttimes think to curse the Day, that tries 
 
 To keep my babe hid in its envious breast, 
 Smit with its hair of gold, and large blue eyes, 
 Close hid within its mantle, careless of my sighs, 
 That night and. day must wake it from its rest. 
 
 But Patience ! when the sun is in the deep, 
 
 The .Star will beam upon me suddenly. 
 And ere the sun-god waketh fi-om his sleep. 
 The dear one shall be mine for whom I weep, 
 
 Mine, mine alone for all eternity.
 
 72 THE STAM IN THE EAST. 
 
 They call me crazed — Ha ! ha ! — They little knoAV 
 
 AVho are the crazed of Eaitli, or they, or I — 
 Tliey, by theu- greed of gold ui-gcd to aud fro. 
 For petty pleasures bending God's soul low— 
 I, seeking for my star about the sky. 
 
 When it is found, — when it is found, how great 
 Will be the wonder of these blind and mad ! 
 How great will be the wonder and the hate, 
 Waking to see the glorious truth too late ! 
 
 > 
 
 Will he, too, see his error, aiul be sad "? 
 
 The wind sweeps weirdly o'er the heaven to-night, 
 Weirdly and black, as though fi'om guilty deeds, 
 From some sad shipwreck, it has taken flight. 
 Leaving the drowning in tlioir direful ])light — 
 Leaving the drown'd low waving in the weeds. 
 
 No stars, no stars again ! Oh woe ! again 
 
 Night dro\vns me in its darkness and its gloom, 
 And I must crouch amidst the wind and rain. 
 Without one hope-gleam lightening my pain ; 
 All things are leagued to darken down my doom.
 
 THE STAR IN THE EAST. 73 
 
 Perchance it is that I am growing weak, 
 
 And faint with wandering afar, afar. 
 And my dim eyes see not the thing I seek ; 
 .Vnd yet I must not ask, I must not speak, 
 
 Nor tell the secret of the Saviour star. 
 
 No ! dumb, — dumb, — I shall set me down to scan 
 
 Each twinkling orb that rolleth up through space, 
 Hesper, heaven's loveliest, leading up the van — 
 To-morroAv — yes ! to-morrow I shall watch, and man 
 Shall see this wonder when I reach the place. 
 
 Will the babe know me — ope its sweet blue eyes —   
 
 And stretch its little arms to clasp me round? 
 Ah ! yes, God will send knowledge fi'om the skies. 
 In pity for my prayers, and tears, and sighs. 
 Angels will sing for joy that I have found 
 My treasure, and he — he will hear the sound ! 
 
 Cold — cold it is — the wind is bitter chill — 
 
 And the rain falls like cm-ses on my head — 
 No ! no ! not curses, for the drops say still 
 That there's an end to sorrow, and all ill
 
 74 THE ST AH IN THE EAST. 
 
 Flows fiTiin US like the water down a hill ; 
 
 The star shall shine, and all the clouds be sped 
 
 * -s- » * * * * 
 
 The sought -for Stai' uprose upon the dead.
 
 UXDER THE SEA. 
 
 Deep in tlie bosom of the ocean, 
 
 Wliere sunshine fades to twilight gloom, 
 The juu'e pearls lie, and the coral bloom 
 
 Rests misway'd by the upper motion — 
 Calm and still the hoiu-s pass by 
 The lovely things that sleeping lie. 
 
 Deep in the bosom of the ocean. 
 
 The thvmder rolls from cloud to cloud. 
 And the bitter blast sweeps o'er the sea. 
 Shaking the waters mightily ; 
 
 But ne'er the tempest's voice so loud, 
 Sinketh down to the thina^s that lie — 
 The lovely things that sleeping lie. 
 
 Deep in the bosom of the ocean.
 
 76 tNDEK THE SEA. 
 
 Tlio icebergs crack with a sullen boom, 
 Kivcii by the hands of the angry North ; 
 And, like the Angel of Wrath sent fortli. 
 
 The whirlwind stalks with the breath of doom. 
 Crushing, like dust 'neath its heavy tread, 
 The last frail spar oVr the seaman's head ; 
 
 But nought can reach the things that lie — 
 
 The lovely things that sleeping lie, 
 Deep in the bosom of the ocean. 
 
 Deep in the bosom of God's-acre, 
 Beyond the reach of grief or care, 
 As sweetly rest the good and fair, 
 
 Where Life's rude foes can ne'er o'ertake her ; 
 Calmly and sweetly the hours pass by 
 The blessed ones who sleeping lie, 
 
 Deep in the bosom of God's-acre. 
 
 Patience ! thou poor one, faint and weary, 
 For thou shalt come unto tliis rest. 
 And leaning on a mother's breast, 
 
 Forget the world to thee so dreary : 
 Calmly and sweetly the liours pass by 
 The ha])i)y ones who lioping lie 
 
 Deep in the bosom of God's-acre.
 
 vnxD. 
 
 On I vreird We?t Wind, tliat eomest from the f^ea, 
 Sad with the miiniuir of the weary waves, 
 Wand'rino- for ever throuo-h old ocean caves, 
 
 \\'\\y troublest thou the hearts that hst to thee, 
 
 ^^'itll echoes of forgotten misery ? 
 
 The night is black with clouds that thou art bringing 
 From the far Avaters of the stormy main, 
 Welhno- their woes forth wearilv in rain. 
 Betwixt us and the hght their dark course winging, 
 And dreary shadows o'er the spirit flinging. 
 
 Whence is thy power to smite the silent heart. 
 
 Till as of old the miseal'd waters run ? 
 
 Whence is thy magic, Oh ! thou unseen one, 
 To make still sorrows from their slumbers start. 
 And play again, unsought, their bitter pai-t ?
 
 18 WIND. 
 
 Wc are all one with Nature — every breeze 
 Stealcth about the chambers of the soul, 
 Haunting their rest with sounds of joy or dole ; 
 And every cloud that crecpeth from the seas, 
 Traileth its shade o'ei' human sympathies. 
 
 Blow^! blow, thou weird wind, till the clouds be rent. 
 And starlight glimmer thi'ough the riven seams. 
 Scatter theh darkness like the mist of ch-eams. 
 Til] all the fleeting, s]»ectrc-gloom be spent. 
 And the bright Future gem the firmament. 
 
 Blow ! blow ! Wight's '' Mene Tokel " even now 
 Griows on her palace-walls, and she shall pass 
 Like the dim vapour from a burnish'd glass ; 
 And no chill shadows o'er ihe soul shall go, 
 liorne by each weeping West Wind to and fro.
 
 A CHALLENGE, 
 
 What art thou — fi-ieiul or foe ? 
 
 Stand ! sttind ! 
 My heart is true as steel, 
 Steady still in woe and weal, 
 Strong to bear, though quick to fee! 
 
 Take my hand ! 
 
 What art thou — friend or foe ? 
 
 Stand ! si.and ! 
 Only my own ease seek I, 
 I am deaf to Pity's cry. 
 If men hunger, let them die — 
 
 Ti'aitor ! stand !
 
 80 A CHALLENGE. 
 
 A^liat art thou — friend or foe ? 
 
 Stand ! stand ! 
 I've a kiss for maiden fair, 
 I've a bluw for avIio may dare, 
 I've a song to banisli care — 
 
 Take my hand ! 
 
 "NMiat art thou — fi-iend or foe ? 
 
 Stand ! stand ! 
 I'm your servant whilst you're great, 
 As you sink, my cares abate, 
 When you're poor you have my liate, 
 
 Traitor I stand ! 
 
 What art thou — friend or foe? 
 
 Stand! stand! 
 If j-ou trust me, I'll be true, 
 If you slioht me, I'll slioht you. 
 If you wrong me, you shall rue — 
 
 Take my hand ! 
 
 "\Miat art thou — fi-iend or foe ? 
 
 Stand ! stand ! 
 I can Avork with any tools — 
 Clothe myself by strl])ping fools —
 
 A CHAXLEXGE. 81 
 
 Bend the knee Avlioever niles — 
 Traitor ! stand ! 
 
 ^Miat art thou — fi-iend or foe ? 
 
 Stand ! stand ! 
 I've a heai-t that hates all wrono-. 
 Aids the weak against the strong, 
 Loves the Truth, and seeks it lono-- 
 
 Take mj hand ! 
 
 "NMiat art thou — fi-iend or foe ? 
 
 Stand ! stand ! 
 I forgive no woman's sin, 
 Hunt her with self-righteous mien, 
 Never take her, moiu-ning, in 
 From the desert of her sin — 
 
 Traitor ! stand ! 
 
 WTiat art thou — fi-iend or foe ! 
 
 Stand ! stand ! 
 I've a heart that melts at son'ow, 
 I've a store the poor may borrow 
 I'm the same to-day, to-morrow — 
 
 Take my hand ! 
 
 G
 
 AT PARTING. 
 
 Pjcace ! Let mo go, or cro it be too late ,* 
 Dip not yoiu' arrows in the lioney-mcad ; 
 Paint not the wound through wliich my heart doth 
 bleed ; 
 Leave me unmock'd, unpiticd to my fate — 
 Peace ! Let me go. 
 
 Tliink you that words can smooth my nigged track? 
 
 Words heal the stab your soft white hands have madt-. 
 
 Or stir the burthen on my bosom laid? 
 Winds shook not Earth from Atlas' bended back — 
 Peace I Let me go.
 
 AT PASTING , 83 
 
 Mliat though it be the last time we shall meet — 
 Kaise^'om' white l)row, and wreathe yom- raven hair, 
 And fill with music sweet the summer ail' ; 
 
 Not this again shall draw me to your feet — 
 Peace ! Let me go. 
 
 No laurels from my vanquish'd heart shall wave 
 Round your triumphant beauty as you go, 
 Not thus adom'd work out some other's M'oe — 
 
 Yet, if you will, pluck daisies from my grave ! 
 Peace ! Let me go. 
 
 o 2
 
 A ^MTHERED ROSE-BUD. 
 
 Time sots his footprints on our little Earth, 
 
 And, walk he ne'er so softly, some sweet thing- 
 Falls 'neath each foot-fall, crush'd amid its mirth. 
 Tracking the comse of Life's short wandering, 
 With fallen remnants of its mortal part, 
 
 Freeing the soul, but weighing down the heart. 
 
 Thou flower of Love ! thou little treasury 
 Of gentleness, and purity, and grace ! 
 
 What hidden virtue hath Death reft from thee — 
 A\niat unseen essence melted into .space ? 
 
 Fvr now thou licst like a sinless child. 
 
 Whom God hath homeward to his bosom smiled.
 
 A WITHEEED ROSE-BUD. 85 
 
 The dew-shower fell on thee, the sunheam play'd, 
 As Life is ever made of smiles and tears ; 
 
 And ofttimes has the breeze of summer sway'd, 
 And Avith its mellow music mock'd thj fears ; 
 
 But now, O wonder, thou art pale and wan. 
 And there's a beauty and a fragrance gone ! 
 
 Thus fade wc — thus our hopes and joys, rose-bright. 
 Yield up their sweetness ere they reach their prime, 
 
 And their poor fabrics lie within our sight, 
 
 Stript of their radiance e'en in summer-time — 
 
 Their spirit hath gone from them, and they wither. 
 
 But wherefore hath the spirit gone, and whither ? 
 
 Our knowledge is like di-cams amid a sleep — 
 
 Faint-pinion'd thoughts that beat the vault of Night, 
 
 And flutter earthward — so we smile or weep 
 At what we know not, cannot see aright ; 
 
 Life is death, and death is life, perchance, 
 
 In the dim twilight of our waking trance. 
 
 Thou art a leaf fi-om the great Book of God, 
 Whose lightest word is wiser than the wise ; 
 And, meekly resting there upon the sod,
 
 86 A vt;theeed eose-bud. 
 
 Thou bieatlicst upward holy m^'steries, 
 In simjile tones that steal upon the sense, 
 Like Childhood's prattling truth and innocence. 
 
 Then, O sweet flower, that in thj low estate 
 Hast in thee emblems of the life of Man, 
 
 Read to our beings whispers of the fate 
 
 That waits us at the end of Time's short span ; 
 
 How short we know not — e'en the bud may be 
 
 Gathcr'd in harvest to eternity.
 
 DE PROFUNDIS. 
 
 TtTRN thine eyes from me, Augel of Heaven — 
 
 Read not my soul, Angel of Heaven — 
 Sorrow is steeping my pale cheeks with weeping, 
 
 Evermore keeping her wand on my heart, 
 
 On my cold stony heart, while the tear-fountains start 
 To pm-ge it fi'om leaven too sinful for Heaven — 
 
 Eead not my soul, yet. Angel of Heaven ! 
 
 Wliy hast thou ta'eu her. Angel of Heaven ? 
 Ta'en her so soon. Angel of Heaven ? 
 
 Yearning to gain her, hast thou thus slain her 
 Ere sin could stain her — borne her away. 
 Borne her far, far away, into eternal day, 
 Left me alone to stay — left me to weep and pray ? 
 
 \Miy hast thou ta'en her, Augel of Heaven ? 
 Ta'en her so soon, Angel of Heaven ?
 
 88 DE PEOFI'XDIS. 
 
 Shines the place brighter, Angel of Heaven ? 
 
 Brighter for her, Angel of Heaven ? 
 Comes there not streamino- into mv dreaming;, 
 
 At morning's beaming, rays more divine, 
 
 Rays fi'om her soul divine, rays giving strength to mine ? 
 
 Shines she not radiantly over the skies. 
 
 Over the morning skies, ere the Earth-vapours rise, 
 'Tw'ixt nie and Paradise, Angel of Heaven ? 
 
 Her blessed Paradise, Angel of Heaven ? 
 
 Tui'ii thine eyes to me. Angel of Heaven — 
 
 Search through and through me. Angel of Heaven : 
 Read my soul's yearning, wild, endlessly burning, 
 
 Tumultuously spmning Fate's bitter decree, 
 
 Fate's tyrannic decree, that tore her from mo, 
 
 Bore her from me to Eternity. 
 Merciless Reaper, no more shalt thou keep her 
 
 From fond eyes that weep her for ever and ever, 
 
 \-mx thine endeavour our s{)irits to sever. 
 Take my soul with thoc, Angel of Heaven, 
 
 Beai- nic unto her, Angel of Heaven.
 
 THE MOTHEE. 
 
 There is a land whereon the sun's warm gaze, 
 
 God-hke, all-seeing, falls right down through space, 
 
 And the weak Earth, quite smitten by its rajs, 
 Lies scorch'd and powerless with mute silent face, 
 
 Like a tranced body, where no changing glow 
 
 Tells that the life-streams tlu-ouoh its channels flow. 
 
 o 
 
 Peopled it is by nations scant and few, 
 Set far apart among the trackless sands, 
 
 Unloarn'd, uncultured, wild and swart of hue, 
 Roaming the deserts in divided bands, 
 
 AMiere the green pastures call them, and the deer 
 
 Troop yet within the range of bow and spear.
 
 90 THE MOTHER. 
 
 Unhappy Afric ! can thy boundless plains, 
 Where the royal lion snuffs the free pure air, 
 
 And every breeze laughs at the tyrant's chains, 
 Be but the nest of slavery and despair, 
 
 Rearing a brood whose craven souls can be ] 
 
 Robb'd of the very dream of Liberty ? 
 
 But, as the shore of this vast sea of sand, 
 Stretches afar a country rich and green, 
 
 With waving foliage shading all the land. 
 And flowing waters bright with sunny sheen; 
 
 And here browse countless herds of dappled deer, 
 
 Blesboks and antelopes, remote from fear. 
 
 Amid it mighty mountains proudly rise, 
 Great monarchs of a boundless continent. 
 
 Rearing their hoary summits to the skies. 
 As claiming empire of tlie firmament ; 
 
 Gaunt silent majesties of sea and earth, 
 
 Stern -featured children of Titanic birth. 
 
 Withm their shadows many peoples dwell ; 
 
 Divided kingdoms gather'd round some chief, 
 With lodges cluster'd by some stream or well, 
 
 To yield their cattle ever cool relief
 
 THE MOTHER. 
 
 91 
 
 From the fierce scorching of the burning sun, 
 And slake their hot thirst when the toil is done. 
 
 It chanced that war, wliich still doth enter in 
 Where men are most or fewest, small or great, 
 
 Here of a sudden raised its hellish din. 
 And woke to fmy, lust, and bloody hatej 
 
 So that with battles, forays, murders, thefts, 
 
 Eang oft the echoes of the mountain clefts. 
 
 There was one tribe that in unconscious ease 
 
 Slumber'd and thought of danger but in di-eams, 
 
 Heard not the tramp of men upon the breeze. 
 
 While the stars, watching with faint trembling beams, 
 
 Saw noiseless spectres round the village creep. 
 
 Like apparitions of unquiet sleep. 
 
 Then, silence-mm'der'd, what a yell arose ! 
 
 And the scared sleepers, rushing forth in fear, 
 Met death without the portals fi-om dim foes. 
 
 Or e'er the warrior could grasp his spear. 
 Or fit the arrow to his unstrung bow. 
 Or ward the fatal stroke that laid him low.
 
 92 THE MOTHER. 
 
 So, with the plunder, and a captured band 
 Of hapless women, ere the morning light 
 
 Flitted the victors swiftly through the land, 
 Red with the trophies of theh deadly fight, 
 
 Leaving the lion and his hungry crew 
 
 To clear the morning of this bloody dew. 
 
 To meet them joyous forth their women came, 
 And led them back in triumph to the fold ; 
 
 Taunting their foes with many a bitter shame, 
 
 Though now they lay in Deatli's arms stark and cold; 
 
 "Whilst the poor captives, rack'd Avith fear and woe, 
 
 Cower'd close together fi-om Fate's hapless blow. 
 
 Soon there came traders from the coast, and then 
 The weeping captives all were marshall'd out, 
 
 And barter'd singly M'ith the heartless men, 
 
 Each bosom trembling still with fear and doubt; 
 
 But when the truth l)urst on them, a hoarse cry 
 
 Of wild despair ascended to the sky. 
 
 There was one there who from the Tree of Life 
 Pluck'd yet the blossoms with the fi-uit of years; 
 
 Scarce yet a woman, though a meek-soul'd wife. 
 And with a babe to claim her prayers and tears,
 
 THE MOTHER. 
 
 93 
 
 A tender bud of early summer time 
 
 Ere breezy woods are in their verdant prime. 
 
 Her 'mongst the rest they hartcr'd, and the child, 
 Too young'to sever from its mother's breast, 
 
 Left they minoticed, whilst she, poor one, wild 
 'Twixt hope and fear, still licld it closely prest 
 
 Unto her heart, whose throbbings, loud and deep. 
 
 Beat an alarum through the infant's sleep. 
 
 But soon her master, as he hasten'd off 
 
 With his new purchases, the infant caught. 
 
 And bid the mother, with a heartless scoff, 
 
 Fhng it away: said he, " 'Tis good for nought; 
 
 None of this lumber can we have, the road 
 
 Is louo- enouo-h to tread \vithout a load." 
 
 The mother clasp'd her babe with bitter cry, 
 But a rude hand enforced it ft'om her arms. 
 
 And the rough steward held it up on high. 
 Laughing aloud the while at her alarms ; 
 
 Said he unto his master; " This shall be 
 
 A bait to di-aw her on with willingly."
 
 94 THE MOTHER, 
 
 He bound around tlie infant's waist a line, 
 That fasten'd to his crupper, and then gave 
 
 The babe back to her, laughing, — " That end's thine- 
 The other stays with me ;" " A witty slave ! " 
 
 The master chuckled, and they moved away, 
 
 She following with anguish and dismay. 
 
 They journey'd o'er the desert, 'neath a sky 
 Scorch'd by the hery footsteps of the sun, 
 
 Without a shade to bless the wistful eye ; 
 
 And soon her fellow slaves droop'd, one by one, 
 
 Callous to blows that harshly drove them on, 
 
 Strength, hope, and love of life all seeming gone. 
 
 But she went onward with no word or plaiut, 
 Clasping the child unto her bosom still, 
 
 Unflagging when all else began to foint. 
 Intent to save her little one from ill ; 
 
 And they look'd on her as she sped along, 
 
 Wond'rinf what made so frail a creatm-c strong. 
 
 At eve she bent above her sleeping treasure, 
 With eyes that wept for pity and for love. 
 
 Filling its cup of life in richer measure. 
 With the blest care that watches us above;
 
 THE MOTHER. 
 
 And in the morn they bound the babe agam, 
 And so drew on the mother in their train. 
 
 Her tender feet soon wounded were, and sore 
 With the rough travel, and the weary way, 
 
 And her shght limbs, o'ertask'd and loaded, bore 
 Less lightly up their burden day by day ; 
 
 But, nature failing, Love imparted power 
 To bear her steps up to the resting horn-. 
 
 Alas I the mother gazed ^ith aching eyes 
 Upon the life-spring in her little child, 
 
 As one laid by a fountain while it diies; 
 Daily she watch' d it ebb, till she grew wild 
 
 ^^'ith anguish at the Angel drawing near. 
 And bared her omi breast for his fatal spear. 
 
 She lost all sense of weariness and pain, 
 And with hot tearless eyes still hrn'ried on, 
 
 Bearing the child girt by its cruel chain, 
 
 All thought save of her chcrish'd bm'den gone, 
 
 Fearful alone lest other eyes should guess 
 
 The feeble thhig her longing arms did press. 
 
 95
 
 96 THE MOTHER. 
 
 At last they saw tlic babe Avas weaker growing, 
 That soon the httlc spark of life must fade, 
 
 So, spite of all her prayers, and wild tears flowing, 
 Beside a spring the sleeping child they laid. 
 
 And bid her onward, heedless of her woe — 
 
 But on the earth she fell, and would not go. 
 
 They raised her up, and bound her on a steed. 
 And so march'd onward on their weary Avay — 
 
 For there was none to help her in her need. 
 And thus they travell'd eastward all the day, 
 
 But Avhen they rested, and on each bow'd head 
 
 Sleep heavy lay, the mother rose and fled. 
 
 And speeding swiftly Avith a lapwing's flight. 
 Backward she hurried to the little spring, 
 
 Led by a power that knoweth not the night. 
 
 But flies through darkness with unerruig wing ; 
 
 ^Viid so e'er morning shinnner'd in the East, 
 
 She clasp'd her dead babe to her panting breast. 
 
 At morn they miss'd her, and the women said, 
 " She seeks her babe beside the di.-tant well. 
 
 There wilt thou tiiid brr, if she be not dead, 
 For O ! the love of mother who can tell."
 
 THE MOTHER. 97 
 
 And so the steward gallop'd back in haste. 
 To seek the lost one in the desert waste. 
 
 At last the spring rose in the distant sand, 
 "With its close verdure pleasant to the eye, 
 
 And there, as, nearing it, the place he scanii'd. 
 He saw the mother with her infant lie, 
 
 Quiet and stilly on each other's breast, 
 
 Folded together in unbroken rest ; 
 
 Her arms around it thrown, that e'en in sleep 
 Still press'd the infant to her stricken heart. 
 
 No rest so perfect, no repose so deep. 
 
 From her sweet babe the mother's love to part. 
 
 Before him loud and bitter curses sped — 
 
 ^\Tio heard him ? — for the mother too lav dead.
 
 SONNET. 
 
 DATUR HOK.\ QUIETI. 
 
 The sun is slowly sinking in the West ; 
 
 The plough lies idle, and the weary team, 
 
 Cool'd with the freshness of the shallow stream, 
 
 Over the meadows hasten to their rest ; 
 
 The hreeze is hush'd, and no moie turns the mill, 
 
 AMth its light sails upon yon rising crest ; 
 
 Its busy music now awhile is still, 
 
 And not a sound heaves up fi-om Nature's breast ; 
 
 The barks upmi the riA'er smoothly ride, 
 
 With sails all fm IM. aii<l flags that listless fall, 
 
 UnrookM, uiisliaki'ii by tlii' tlowing tide ; 
 
 The cattle lazy lie within the stall ; 
 
 And tlius the Tiinc-sticain on doth sweetly glide, 
 
 Bearing repose and slumber unto all.
 
 SEA MARGINS. 
 
 E\'Eii restless, ever toiling, 
 Fretting fiercely on its narrow bounds, 
 Still filling heaven and earth with mournful sounds, 
 Old ocean, sullen from its rocks recoiling. 
 Rearing wild waves foam-crested to the sky, 
 Lashes aejain the beaches angrilv ; 
 
 Slowlv victor-like advaucina:, 
 Marching roughly o'er the conquer'd land, 
 Clean sweeping olden limits from the strand, 
 In proud derision o'er the spoil'd Earth glancing, 
 \\liere 'neath its ruthless tide on hill or plain, 
 No flower or shady leaf shall bud again. 
 
 H 2
 
 100 SEA MAEGINS, 
 
 Slowly thus the ocean crecpnig. 
 Creeping coldly o'er the world of old, 
 Stole many an Eden fi-om the Age of Gold, 
 And gazing now we see blank billows sweeping, 
 Long cheerless wavings of the sullen seas, 
 Where once the sun shone bright on flowery leas. 
 
 Over Earth, and over Being, 
 Over many glories of the Past, 
 Remorseless floods are flowing fierce and fast, 
 Snatching sun-lighted Tempos from our seeing, 
 Rolling their dreary surges o'er the shore, 
 ^Vhere Love had hoped to dwell for evermore. 
 
 Sadly on Time's heaving ocean, 
 Waving darkly o'er Youth's Paradise, 
 Back gaze we ever with dim tearful eyes, 
 Seeking old joj's beyond its rude commotion. 
 Seeking the old world glories pass'd away. 
 Seeking the golden sliorcs of Life's Cathay.
 
 SONG. 
 
 Love took me softly by the hand, 
 Love led me all the country o'er, 
 
 And sliow'd me beauty in the land, 
 That I had never dreamt before, 
 Never before, Oh ! Love ! sweet Love ! 
 
 There was a glory in the morn, 
 There was a calmness in the night, 
 
 A mildness by the south wind borne. 
 That I had never felt aright, 
 Never aright. Oh ! Love ! sweet Love ! 
 
 But now it cannot pass away, 
 
 I see it wheresoe'er I go. 
 And in my heart by night and day, 
 
 Its gladness waveth to and fi"o, 
 
 By night and day. Oh ! Love ! sweet Love !
 
 THE BELL. 
 
 Through the calm and silent air 
 Floats the tolling funeral bell, 
 Swooning over hill and dell, 
 
 Heavy laden with despair ; 
 
 Mute between each muffled stroke, 
 Sad as though a dead voice spoke, 
 Out of the dim Past time spoke, 
 
 Stands my heart all mute with care. 
 
 The Bell is tolling on, and deep. 
 Deep and drear into my heart 
 All its bitter accents dart. 
 
 Peace ! sad chime, L will not weep — 
 Wliat is there within thy tone, 
 That should wring my heart alone. 
 Rive it with this endless moan ? 
 
 Peace ! and let past sorrows sleep !
 
 THE BELL. 
 
 Flins,' your music on the breeze, 
 Mock the sighing of the willows, 
 Mock the lapping of the billows. 
 
 Mock not human sympathies; 
 
 Slow chime, sad chime, mock me not, 
 With that loveil voice ne'er forgot, 
 Floodino- me with tears blood-hot ; 
 
 Mock not soul-deep memories ! 
 
 Come not from the unseen Past, 
 Fl}dng up the silent gale. 
 With that deep and muffled wail. 
 Slaying me with lying tale. 
 
 Base chime, false chime from the Past ! 
 Not in sighs of mortal pain. 
 Pain and anguish rise again. 
 Voices from the far Death-plain — 
 
 Not thus speaks she fi'om the Past. 
 
 Peace I yet — for though she speaks not 
 
 From her Paradise in thee, 
 
 Wliispcrs nevermore to me 
 
 In my lonely misery. 
 Oh I that loved voice ne'er forgot. 
 
 103
 
 104 THE BELL. 
 
 Thou (lost wake my brooding soul, 
 Smit'st it till the bitter dole 
 Breaks aloud beyond controul, 
 While the briny tear-drops roll, 
 Drowning cries which she hears not. 
 
 Cruel Bell ! harsh Bell ! ring on, 
 I shall turn my heart to stone, 
 FHnging back thy mocking tone, 
 Callous of thy deepest moan ! 
 Lying Bell ! thy power is gone ! 
 Spake she fi'om her golden cloud, 
 Spake she to my heart aloud, 
 Every murmur of her voice, 
 Would bid my lone heart rejoice ; 
 Every mm'mur of her voice, 
 Ah ! would make my heart rejoice, 
 Lying Bell ! thy power is gone.
 
 L L E W E L L Y N, 
 
 I. — In the Porch. 
 
 Morgan and a Monk. 
 
 \ MORGAN. 
 
 Tm: tale is pitiful. 'Twas on this wise — 
 Lle^^\^llJn went at morn among the hills, 
 To l^ant, as is his use. My lady, too. 
 With all her maidens, early sallied forth, 
 A pilgrimage among the neighbom'ing vales. 
 Culling of simples, nor yet comes she home ; 
 And so the cliild lay sleeping in his crib. 
 With Gelert — vou remember the old hound ?
 
 106 LLEWELLYN. 
 
 He pull'd the stag of ton down by the Holy Well— 
 "With Gelert set to watch him like a nurse. 
 
 MONK. 
 
 The dog alone ? nay I friend, but that is strange ! 
 
 MORGAN. 
 
 Strange ! Not a whit, for fifty times before 
 The hound hath kept liim like his own bred whelp, 
 And ne'er a one could touch him ; but the child 
 Play'd with his shaggy ears and great rough coat. 
 As no oTOwn man had dared. 
 
 MONK. 
 
 I know there is 
 A strange nobility in dogs, to boar 
 The utmost sport of children, that would seize 
 Man bv the tIn-oat e'en for a fino-cr toudi — 
 But to your tale — 
 
 MORGAN. 
 
 Well ! suddenly at noon, 
 Llewellyn, baffled of his game, hied back. 
 Striding right grimly in his discontent,
 
 LLEWELLYN. 
 
 107 
 
 And whistling, oft his spear upon the ground. 
 Slaying the visions of his fretftil dreams ; 
 And presently he thought him of liis child ; 
 So with its winsome ways to wile the time, 
 He went unto the chamher where it lay, 
 Watch'd o'er bv Gelert, as his custom was : 
 But there, alack ! or that the child had crost 
 The savage humour of the beast, or that 
 Some sudden madness had embolden'd it, 
 He saw the child lie bloody mid the sheets, 
 Slain by the hound, as it would seem, for there 
 Lay Grelert lapping from his chaps the blood, 
 That hung in gouts from every grisly curl. 
 
 MONK. 
 
 O Heaven ! the woful deed ! "N^liat did your lord ? 
 
 MORGAN. 
 
 You know the hasty humour of the man. 
 That brooks no let betwixt him and his mood — 
 He slew the old hound with his heavy spear, 
 That almost licking of his feet fell dead ; 
 For Gelert loved him well, and, crouching, took 
 Without a cry the blow that struck his heart.
 
 108 LLEWELLYX. 
 
 MONK. 
 
 This is a sorry day for all the house ; they say 
 Llewellyn had his soul set on the child. 
 
 MORGAN. 
 
 Hjs soul ! Ay, marry ! many a time and oft 
 I've seen the man's great heart stare from his eyes, 
 Just like a girl's, out at the crowing boy : 
 And yesterday it was he perch'd him fair 
 Upon his broad rough shoulder, like a lamb 
 Laid on the topmost reaches of a hill, 
 And so he bore him, all his face a-glow. 
 When hei'alds came witli war-notes from the king ; 
 At which he turn'd him soft — the startled babe 
 Still set astride, and looking fondly up, 
 Said he, " See ! here's the only lord that sets 
 His foot upon my shoidder." The man's heart 
 Scarce beats, I warrant, now the child is dead. 
 
 MONK. 
 
 And hath he mastcr'd aught his sorrow now, 
 Or still rides passion curbless through his soul ?
 
 XLE^V-ELLYX. 109 
 
 MOBGAX. 
 
 Ah ! there, good Father, lies the chiefest woe. 
 For in the slaying of the hound his rage 
 Quite spent its force, and now I fear me much 
 His mind hath lost its olden emperj. 
 
 MONK. 
 
 Nay ! Death smites passion still upon the mouth, 
 And its grim shade is silence — 'Tis no sign. 
 
 • MOEGAN. 
 
 But in this one act all his fury pass'd; 
 And turning softly from the dead child there, 
 Suffering none to touch it where it lay, 
 He sat him down in awful calmness nigh, 
 And gazed forth blankly like a sculptured face ; 
 And when we fain would pass to take the child, 
 A strange wild voice still warns us hack again, 
 " Hush ! for the boy is sleeping." It would seem 
 He will not think that Death hath struck the babe, 
 But blinds his willing soul, and deems it sleep.
 
 210 LLEWELLYN. 
 
 MONK. 
 
 A longer sleep, whose waking is not here ! 
 Poor soul ! that, catching at the skirts of Truth. 
 Muffleth his eyes that he may see her not. 
 
 MORGAN. 
 
 Good Father ! go thou to him, for this doubt 
 That lays its stony spell upon his heart, 
 Is sadder far than tears — 
 
 MONK. 
 
 It is mine office 
 Still to bear balm unto the bleeding heart ; 
 Then lead on, friend, and let us trust in Heaven. 
 
 [^They 2^<^s^ ***■
 
 LLEWELLYN. 
 
 II. — In the Cliamher. 
 Llewellyn and Monk. 
 
 MONK. 
 
 Benedicite ! my son ; 
 
 LLE'WELLYN. 
 
 Hush ! speak low, 
 The child is sleeping. 
 
 MONK. 
 
 Ay ! we should speak low 
 Where Death is, though no sound can ever wake 
 Those whom he cradles in his hony arms. 
 
 LLEWELLYN. 
 
 WTio speaks of Death in presence of a child ! 
 
 MONK. 
 
 Alas ! my son, the hud though ne'er so close 
 
 111
 
 112 LLEWELLYN. 
 
 It fold the fragrant treasure of its j'outh, 
 Is by the nip of Winter shorn betimes. 
 
 LLEWELLYN. 
 
 Tliough Death should grimly stalk into the house, 
 And stand beside the slumber of a child, 
 Think you that gazing on its mimic self. 
 Sleep, beautiful and wondrous, in the crib, 
 His owlisli thouglits would not wing suddenly, 
 Thi'ough cycles of decay, back to the time 
 When he was one with Sleep, and passing fair ; 
 Think you he would not sigh, " Sleep on ! sleep on I 
 Thou copy and thou counterfeit of me. 
 And teach the world that I was beautiful." 
 The child is sleeping. 
 
 MONK. 
 
 O ni}' son ! my son ! 
 These are delusions that but wrong the soul, 
 And keep the acliing thouglits from peace and Heaven. 
 
 LLEWELLYN. 
 
 A^Hiy, Fatlicr, if Death W(ik(> liiin as he lay. 
 The lad would look uj) at him with a smile.
 
 LLEWELLYN. 113 
 
 And twist his little limbs in cliildisli sport, 
 
 Until the angel, surfeited with fear. 
 
 Would love and spare the thing that fear'd him not. 
 
 JS'o man could see his pretty ways and frown, — 
 
 And he was full of httle childish tricks, 
 
 That won the very heart out of a man 
 
 In spite of him. There's Beowolf the Curst, 
 
 With ne'er a gentle word for man or child, 
 
 But cold and crusty as a northern hUl — 
 
 Wliy this day sen'night did my master there. 
 
 Crawl up his knees without a Yea or jN^ay, 
 
 And toy'd him with his sword-hUt merrily, 
 
 Till the rough man, caught with his gamesome arts. 
 
 Swore that he had the making of a man ; 
 
 And, for the maids, there's none but has a word, 
 
 Or kiss to bandy with the gainsome lad ; 
 
 Ay ! when he wakes you'll see how he will crow, 
 
 And fill the place with laughter — he's no girl. 
 
 Puking and mewling evermore — not he. 
 
 MONK. 
 
 Good lack ! my son, your heart is too much set 
 Upon the child, to bow before Heav'n's will, 
 That tm-ns your soul back to itself with stripes ;
 
 114 LLEWELLYN. 
 
 Oh ! know you not, Sir, that the child is dead ? 
 
 LLE'U'ELLYN. 
 
 You all have conn'd the same wise tale by rote — 
 The child is sleeping ; hush ! and wake him not. 
 
 MONK. 
 
 Nay ! doth your mind not stumble on the truth, 
 Here by this old hound lying at your feet, 
 With all his clotted blood in crimson pools 
 Curdling among the rushes on the floor? 
 
 LLEWELLYN. 
 
 The hound ? — the hound — Poor Gelert ! well-a-day ! 
 
 It was ill -done of me — a wicked stroko, 
 
 A wicked stroke — and the boy, too, asleep. 
 
 And now I mind me how he" loved the dog ; 
 
 How many an hour he sported in the sun, 
 
 Twining his grisly neck with summer buds ; 
 
 And how the dog was patient with the boy. 
 
 Yielding him gently to his little arms — 
 
 There was a lion's heart in the old hound ! 
 
 The deed's accursed — accursed — the child Mill wake, 
 
 Antl call for Gelert with his merry voice ;
 
 LLEWELLYN. 115 
 
 And when the dog no more comes stalking nigh, 
 
 With great mild head to meet the outstretch'd hands, 
 
 The child will sob his heart out for his friend ; 
 
 Foi-, Sir, his natm-e is right full of love. 
 
 And generous affections, never slack 
 
 To let his soul have space and mastery — 
 
 A wicked stroke ! 
 
 MONK. 
 
 Ah ! would his voice could sound 
 Ever again among your silent halls ; 
 But the sweet ti'cble never more shall ring 
 Across the chambers to yoiu- wistful ear ; 
 Then hear it now come floating down from heav"n, 
 Calling your lone and bleeding heart to God. 
 
 LLE"WELLYN. 
 
 His voice was very sweet, a silvery stream 
 Of music, rippling softly through my life — 
 And ne'er to hear his little prattling tongue, 
 Stumbling upon the threshold steps of speech, 
 Catching quaint sounds and fi-agments of discourse, 
 And setting them to childish uses straight — 
 I"ve sat atid heard him by the houi- — you'd wonder 
 
 I 2
 
 116 LLEWELLYN. 
 
 To hear his little saws and sentences, 
 And now to think I'll hear him never more — 
 Alack ! alack ! — but no, it is not true — 
 The child is sleeping — Ay ! it must be so. 
 ^^^lat know you, Father, of an infant's sleep ? 
 You, in yom' stony cell 'mid shaven friars. 
 All crowding down the nether side of life, 
 Hearing no sweeter voice than matin-bells, 
 No speech, but grace in cold refectories ; 
 Ay ! thence it is — Oh fool ! that I should doubt ! 
 'Tis, so — 'tis so — I knew that I should pluck 
 The cowl from your delusion — Is't not so ? 
 
 MONK. 
 
 Oh son, your woful faith moves all my heart. 
 'Tis pitifid ! but see you not the blood 
 That hotly streaks yom- sleeping lily there ? 
 See how it laces all his garments o'er, , 
 And signs the grievous sentence of your joy. 
 
 LLEWELLYN. 
 
 Blood ? — blood ? — nay, how is this ? — I — very like 
 The sun shines redly on him — I have seen 
 The sky look ruddy, as with all the blood
 
 LLEWELLYN. 117 
 
 Of battle-fields, where no man cried for grace. 
 Blood ? look, Sii' ; look again — I — something clouds 
 Mine eyes to-day — I see more thick than wont. 
 
 MONK. 
 
 Nay ! lean on me — Come ! look upon your cliild, 
 And Heav'n in ruth will smite your drouthy heaii, 
 And send the balm of tears about your soul.
 
 118 LLEWELLYX- 
 
 III. — In the heart of the Child. 
 
 Thebe is a little clove that sits 
 Between the arches all alone, 
 Cut and carved in old grey stone. 
 
 And a spider o'er it flits : 
 
 Round'and round his web is spun. 
 With the still bkd looking tlu-ough. 
 From among the beads of dew. 
 
 Set in glories of the sun. 
 
 So the Itird looks out at morn 
 At the larks that mount the sky. 
 And it gazes, still and shy, 
 
 At the new moon's scanty horn.
 
 LLEWELLYN. 
 
 And the owls, that fly by night, 
 
 Mock it from the i\ded tower, 
 
 Hooting at the midnight hour 
 Down upon it from the height. 
 
 But the httle dove sits on, 
 
 Cahn between the arches there, 
 
 In the holy morning air, 
 "When the owls with night are gone. 
 
 Then the bells for matins ring, 
 
 And the grey fi-iars past it go, 
 
 Into church in double row, 
 And it hears the chamits they sing. 
 
 And the incense stealino- out 
 
 O 
 
 Thi'ough the chinks, and thiough the seams, 
 Floats among the dusty beams, 
 And wTeathes all the bird about. 
 
 All the children as they pass 
 
 Tiun to see the bird of stone, 
 
 'Twixt the arches all alone, 
 "Wading to it through the grass. ' 
 
 119
 
 120 LLEWELLYN. 
 
 Is the spider's pretty net, 
 
 Hung across the arches there, 
 But a frail and foolish snare 
 
 For the little stone bird set ? 
 
 If the place should e'er decay, 
 
 And the tower be crumbled down. 
 And the arches ov•erthl•OA^^l, 
 
 Would the dove then fly away ? 
 
 So that, seeking it around, 
 All some golden summer day, 
 'Mid the ruins as they lay, 
 
 It should never more be found ?
 
 LLEWELLYN. 121 
 
 IV. — In the Chamber. 
 Llewellyn and Monk. 
 
 LLEWELLYN. 
 
 My little one ! my joy ! my hope ! dead — dead — 
 I did not think to see this sorry sight. 
 
 MONK. 
 
 Holy St. David ! is this death, or sleep ? 
 
 LLEWELLYN. 
 
 Nay ! Father, that is past — I am a man 
 Once more, and look at Sorrow in the eyes ; 
 Let Truth e'en smite me with her two-edged hlade, 
 But smite me, like a warrior, face to face. 
 
 MONK. 
 
 I stand all in amaze ! or do I dream, 
 Or see I now the motion of a breath, 
 Ruffling the pouting lips that stand ajar ?
 
 122 LLEWELLYN. 
 
 LLEWELLYN. 
 
 Oh ! Father, mock inc not — I know that Death 
 
 Sits hghtly on him as a ch'eamless sleep ; 
 
 So dear a hud can never lose its sweets; 
 
 Oh ! foolish heart ! I thought to see liim grow 
 
 In strength and heauty, like a sapling oak, 
 
 Spreading his stalwart shoots ahout the sky, 
 
 Till, when old age set burdens on my back, 
 
 Tn every hough my trembling hands should find 
 
 A staff to prop me onward to the grave ; 
 
 And now my heart is shaken somewhat sorely. 
 
 MONK. 
 
 Sir ! This is wondrous — let me take the child. 
 For sm-e mine eyes do cheat me, or he lives. 
 
 LLEWELLYN. 
 
 Father, this is not well to mock me so ; 
 My heart is sated with the draught of Hope, 
 And, loathing, turns from the delusive cup ; 
 Nay ! touch him not — 'tis well that he should lie. 
 Calm and unquestion'd, on the breast of Hcav'n ; 
 Yet once again my lips must flutter his.
 
 LLEWELLYN. 123 
 
 He may uot be so distant, but that Love 
 
 May send its greeting flying on bis track — 
 
 The lips are warm — my God ! he hvcs I be lives ! 
 
 [Takes the child, ivho awakes in his arms. 
 
 MONK. 
 
 Faith ! This is stranger than a gossip's tale ! 
 My son ! the wonderment o'ermasters you — 
 Nay ! look not thus — let Nature have her way — 
 Give words to joy, and be yoiu' thanks first paid 
 To Heav'n, that sends you thus your child again. 
 
 LLEW1ELLYN. 
 
 The joy was almost more than man might bear ! 
 And still my thoughts are lost in wild amaze — 
 The cliild unhurt — ^this blood — the hound — in troth, 
 The riddle passes my poor wits. 
 
 MONK. 
 
 Let's search 
 The chamber well — Heav'n shield us ! what is this ? 
 
 LLEWELLYN. 
 
 A wolf ! and dead ! — Ah !• now I see it clear —
 
 124 LLE"VrELLYN. 
 
 The houml kept worthy watch, and in my haste 
 I slew the saviour of my house and joy. 
 Poor Gelert ! thou shalt have such recompense 
 As man may pay imto the dead — Thy name 
 Henceforth shall stand for Faithfulness, and men 
 For evermore shall speak thine epitaph.
 
 A SHELL. 
 
 From what rock-liollow'd cavern deep in ocean, 
 Where jagged cohimns break the billow's beat, 
 
 WhirFd upward by some wild mid-world commotion, 
 Has this rose-tinted shell steer'd to my feet ? 
 
 Perchance the wave that bore it has rejoiced 
 
 Above Man's founder'd hopes, and shattered pride, 
 
 "WTiilst fierce Euroclydon swept, trumpet-voiced, 
 
 Through the frail spars, and hurl'd them in the tide. 
 And the lost seamen floated at its side ! 
 
 Ah ! thus too oft do Woe and Beauty meet, 
 Swept onward by the self-same tide of fate, 
 
 The bitter following swift upon the sweet. 
 Close, close together, yet how separate !
 
 126 A SHELL. 
 
 Frail waif from the sublime storm -shaken sea, 
 Thou seem'st the childhood toy of some old king, 
 
 \Mio 'mid the shock of nations lights on thee, 
 And instant backward do his thoughts take wing 
 
 To the unclouded days of infancy ; 
 
 Tlicn, sighing, thus away the foolish joy doth fling. 
 
 Forth fi'om thine inner chambers come there out 
 Low mm-murs of sweet mystic melodies, 
 
 Old Neptune's couch windmg lone caves about, 
 In tones that faintly through the waves arise, 
 And steal to mortal ears in softest sighs. 
 
 The poet di'eams of olden ages flowing- 
 Through the time-ocean to the listening soul, 
 
 Ages when fi'om each fountain clear and glowing, 
 Unto the spirit Naiad voices stole. 
 
 And still, from earth and sea, there ever pealeth 
 A voice far softer than leal lover's lay, 
 
 Bearing the heart, o'er which its true sense stealeth, 
 Far to diviner dreams of joy away. 
 And to the wisdom of a riper day.
 
 TITE RAVEN. 
 
 There sat a raven 'mid the pines so dark, 
 The pines so silent and so dark at morn 
 A ragged bird with feathers rough and torn, 
 
 Whetting his grimy beak upon the bark, 
 And croaking hoarsely to the woods forlorn. 
 
 Blood red the sky and misty in the east — 
 Low vapours creeping bleakly o'er the hills — 
 The rain will soon come plashing on the rills — 
 
 No sound in all the place of bird or beast, 
 
 Save that hoarse croak that all the woodland fills.
 
 128 THE EAVEX. 
 
 A slimy pool all rank with rotting weeds, 
 
 Close by the pines there at the highway side ; 
 No ripple on its green and stagnant tide, 
 
 Where only cold and still the horse-leech breeds— 
 Ugh ! might not here some bloody murder hide ! 
 
 Pshaw ! . . . . Cold the air slow stealing through the trees, 
 Scarce rustling the moist leaves beneath its tread — 
 A fearful breast thus holds its breath for dread ! 
 
 There is no healthful music in this breeze, 
 
 It sounds . . . . ha ! ha ! .... like sighs above the dead ! 
 
 Wliat frights yon raven 'mid the pines so dark, 
 The pines so silent and so dai'k around, 
 With ne'er accomplish'd circlings to the ground 
 
 Ruffling his wings so ragged and so stark ? 
 Some half-dead victim haply hath he found. 
 
 Ho ! raven, now with thee I'll share the spoil ! 
 This way, mcthinks, the dying game hath trod — 
 Ay ! broken twigs, and blood upon the sod — 
 
 These thorns arc shai-ji ! well ! soon will end the toil — 
 This bough aside, and then the prize .... My God ! . . .
 
 SONNETS 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON. 
 
 The Land stootl still to listen all that day, 
 
 And 'mid the hush of many a ^vl■angling tongue. 
 
 Forth from the cannon's mouth the signal nuig. 
 
 That from the earth a man had pass'd away — 
 
 A mighty Man, that over many a field 
 
 Roll'd back the tide of Battle on the foe, — 
 
 Thus far, no ftuther, shall thy billows go. 
 
 Who Freedom's falchion did right nobly wield. 
 
 Like potter's vessel smiting Tyrants down, 
 
 And from Earth's strongest snatching "\^ictory's crown ; 
 
 Upon the anvil of each Battle-plain, 
 
 Still beating swords to ploughshares. All is past, — 
 
 The glory, and the labom-, and the pain — 
 
 The Conqueror is conqucr'd here at last.
 
 130 SONNETS. 
 
 Yet other men have wrought, and fought, and won. 
 Cutting with crimson sword Fame's Gordian knot, 
 And, dying, nations wonder'd — and forgot, — 
 But this Man's name shall circle with the sun ; 
 And Avhcn our children's children feel the glow, 
 That ripens tliera unconsciously to men, 
 Asking, with uptum'd face, " \Miat did lie then ?" 
 One answer fiom each quickcn'd lionrt shall flow — 
 " This Man snlmicrg'd the Doer in the Deed, 
 Toil'd on for Duty, nor of Fame took heed ; 
 Hew'd out his name upon the great world's sides, 
 In sure-aim'd strokes of nobleness and worth, 
 And never more Time's devastatins: tides 
 Shall wear the steadfast record fiom the Earth." 
 
 This Duty, known and done, which all men praise, 
 Is it a thing for heroes utterly ? 
 Or claims it aught, O Man ! from thee and me. 
 Amid the sweat and grime of working days ?
 
 SONNETS. 131 
 
 Stand forth, thou Conqueror, hefore God's throne, 
 Thou ruler, thou Earth-leader, great and strong. 
 Behold thy work, thy doing, laboiu-'d long, 
 Before that mighty Presence little grown. 
 Stand forth, thou Man, low toiling 'mid the lees, 
 That measurest Duty out in poor degrees ; 
 Are not all deeds, beside the deeds of Heaven, 
 But as the sands upon the ocean shore. 
 Which, softly breath'd on by God's winds, are driven 
 Into dim deserts, thenceforth seen no more ! 
 
 Then make thou Life heroic, O ! thou Man, 
 Though not in Earth's eyes, still in Heaven's, which see 
 Each task accomplish'd not in poor degree, 
 But as fain workings out of Duty's plan, — 
 The hewers and the drawers of the land, 
 No whit behind the mighty and the great. 
 Bearing unmoved the burden of the State, — 
 Ahke each duty challenged at man's hand. 
 Life is built up of smallest atomies, 
 Pile upon pile the ramparts still increase, 
 
 k2
 
 132 SOXNTITS. 
 
 And as those Roman walls, o'er which in scorn 
 The scoifer leapt, soon held the world at hay, 
 So shall thy deeds of duty, lowly born. 
 Be thv strono; tower and glory ere the set of day,
 
 THE PASSAGE-BIRDS. 
 
 Fab, far away, over land and sea, 
 When Winter comes with his cold, cold breath, 
 And chills the flowei's to the sleep of death, 
 
 Far, far away over land and sea. 
 Like a band of spirits the Passage-birds flee. 
 
 Round the old grey spire in the evening calm, 
 No more they circle in sportive glee, 
 
 Hearing the hum of the vesper psalm, 
 
 And the swell of the organ so far below ; 
 But far, far away, over land and sea, 
 
 In the still mid-air the swift Passage-birds ao.
 
 134 THE PASSAGE-BIRDS. 
 
 Over the earth that is scarcely seen 
 
 Through the curtahi of vapour that waves between, 
 O'er city and hamlet, o'er hill and plain, 
 
 O'er forest green, and o'er mountain hoar. 
 
 They flit like shadows, and pass the shore, 
 And wing their way o'er tlu' patlJess main. 
 
 There is no rest for the weary wing. 
 No quivering bough where the feet can cling ; 
 To the Xoith, to tlie South, to the East, to the West, 
 The ocean lies with its heaving breast, 
 ^Mthin it, without it tliere is no rest. 
 
 The tempest gatliers beneath them far, 
 The SVind-god rides on his battle-car, 
 And tlie loar of the thunder, the lightning-flash, 
 Break on tlie waves with a sullen crash ; 
 
 But Silence reigns where the Passage-birds fly. 
 And o'er them stretches the clear blue sky. 
 
 The day wears out, and the starry night 
 
 Hushes the wdild to sloojt. to slec]) : 
 The dew-shower falls in the still moonlight, 
 
 And none wake now, save those who weep ;
 
 THE PASSAGE -BIRDS. 
 
 But rustling on through the stany night, 
 
 Like a hand of spirits the Passage-birds flee. 
 
 Cleavino- the darkness above the sea. 
 Swift and straight as an arrow's flight. 
 
 Is the wind their guide tlu'ough the trackless skv ? 
 
 For here there's no landmark to travel by. 
 
 The first faint streak of the morning glows, 
 
 Like the feeble blush on the budding rose ; 
 And in long grey lines the clouds divide, 
 
 And march away with retreating Xight, 
 
 ^Miilst the bright gleams of victorious Light, 
 Follow them ooldenlv far and wide : 
 
 And when the mists have all pass'd away. 
 And left the heavens serene and clear. 
 As an eye that has never shed a tear, 
 
 And the imiverse basks in the smile of Day, 
 Dreamy and still, and the sleepy breeze, 
 Lazily moves o'er the glassy seas, 
 
 The Passage-bu-ds flit o'er the disc of noon. 
 Like shadows across a mirror's face, 
 For now their journey wanes apace, 
 
 And the realms of Summer they'll enter soon. 
 
 135
 
 136 THE PASSAGE-BIRDS. 
 
 The land looms far through the waters blue, 
 The Land of Promise, the Land of Rest ; 
 
 Through cloud and storm they have travell'd true. 
 And joy thrills now in each throbbing breast : 
 DowTi they sink, with a wheeling flight, 
 Whilst the song of birds comes floating high, 
 And they pass the lark in the sunny sky ; 
 But down, without pausing, do\vn they fly ; 
 Their travel is over, their Summer shines bright.
 
 MEMNON. 
 
 Hot blows the wild simoom across the waste, 
 The desert M-aste, amid the dreary sand, 
 Witli fiery breath swift bm-ning up the laud, 
 
 O'er the scared pilgrim, speeding on in haste, 
 
 Hurling fierce death-drifts with broad -scorching hand. 
 
 O weary Wilderness ! Xo shady tree 
 
 To spread its arms around the fainting soul ; 
 No spring to sparkle in the parched bowl ; 
 Xo refuge in the drear immensity, 
 Where lies, the Piist, wieck'd 'neath a sandy sea, 
 Where o'er its glories blighting billows roll.
 
 138 MEJINON. 
 
 Ho ! Sea, yield up th}' buriecl dead again ; 
 
 Heave back thy Avavcs, and let the Past arise ; 
 
 Eestore Time's relics to the startled skies, 
 Till giant shadows tremble on the plain. 
 
 And awe the heart with old-world mysteries ! 
 
 Old Memnon ! Once again thy Poet-voice 
 May sing sweet pagans to the golden Morn, 
 Again may hail the saviour Light sun-born, 
 
 And bid the wild and desert waste rejoice, — 
 As'ain witli siffhs the loomino- darkness mourn. 
 
 Thou Watchman, waiting weary for tlie dawn. 
 Breathing low longings for its guidon light, 
 Thi'ougli the dim silence of tlic drowsy night, 
 
 What wistful sighs with thine are softly diawn, 
 Till day-beams on the darken'd sjiirit smite ! 
 
 The ihnvning light of Knowledge smites thee now, 
 And forl.li from the dim Past c(jiiie voices clear, 
 Falling in solenm music on the ear, 
 
 Wliicb, as the haloes brighten (in lliy brow, 
 Sliiill still ill riclier hannonies draw near.
 
 MEMXON. 139 
 
 The Past comes back in music soft and sweet, 
 And lo ! the Present hke a strung harp stands 
 Waiting the sweeping of prophetic hands, 
 
 To send its Hving music, loud and fleet, 
 
 Careerino- cahnlv throuoh unnnmher'd lands. 
 
 Then swift uprise, thou Sun, thou Music-Maker ! 
 Smiting the chords of Life with gladsome rays, 
 Till fi'om each Memnon burst the song of praise. 
 
 From lips which thou hast freed, O silence-breaker ! 
 That over Earth the sound may swell always. 
 
 Note. — It will of course be remembered that the celebrated statue of 
 Memnon was believed to utter lugubrious and mournful sounds at sunset, 
 and during the hours of darkness, which changed to sounds of joy as the 
 first rays of morning fell upon it.
 
 A COXCEIT. 
 
 The Grey-beard Winter sat alone and still, 
 Locking his treasures in the flinty earth j 
 
 And like a raiser comfortless and chill, 
 
 Frown'd upon pleasure and rejected mirth ; 
 
 But Spring came, gentle Spring, the young, the fair, 
 And with her smiles subdued his frosty heart, 
 
 So that for very joy to see her there, 
 
 His soul, relenting, play'd the lover's part ; 
 
 And nought could liring too lovely or too sweet, 
 To lavish on the bright Evangel's head ; 
 
 No flowers too radiant for her tender feet ; 
 No joys too blissful o'er her life to shed. 
 
 And thus the land became a Paradise, 
 A new-made Eden, redolent of joy, 
 
 Where beauty blossom'd under sunny skies, 
 And peaceful pleasure reignM without alloy.
 
 THE LAND'S END. 
 
 I STOOD on the Land's End, alone and still. 
 
 IMan miffht have been unmade, for no fi'ail trace 
 
 Of mortal labour startled the wild place, 
 And only sea-mews with their wailing shrill, 
 
 Circled beneath me over the dark sea, 
 Flashing the waves with pinions snowy white, 
 That glimmer'd faintly in the gloomy light 
 
 Betwixt the foaming furrows constantly. 
 It was a mighty cape, that proudly rose 
 
 Above the world of waters, high and steep. 
 
 With many a scar and fissure fathoms deep. 
 Upon whose ledges lodged the endless snows ;
 
 142 THE land's p:nd. 
 
 A noble brow to a firm-founded world. 
 That at the limits of its empire stood, 
 Fronting the ocean in its roughest mood, 
 
 And all its fury calmly backward hurl'd. 
 The Midnight Sun rose like an angry god, 
 
 Girt round with clouds, through Avhich a lurid glow 
 
 Fev'rously trembled to the waves below, 
 And smote the watei-s with a fiery rod ; 
 
 Above, the glory circled uj) the sky, 
 Fainter and fainter to the sullen grey, 
 Till the black under-drift of clouds away 
 
 Went with the gathering wind, and let it die. 
 
 A moaning sound swept o'er the heaving ocean, 
 Toss'd hoarsely on from angry crest to crest. 
 Like groans from a great soul in its unrest, 
 
 Stin-ing the ranks of men to fierce commotion. 
 
 My longing vision measured the wide waste, 
 " This cannot be the end of things ; that man 
 Should see his path lead on so short a sjian. 
 
 And then the unstable ocean mock his haste ! 
 
 Better have stay'd where 1 could still Umk on, 
 And see a sturdy world to bear my feet, 
 Than thus outstrip the inultitu(l(> to dicat 
 
 J'^nrtli cif its knowledge, and liere find it gone.''
 
 THE land's end. 143 
 
 A Shadow rose bet\vixt me and the sky, 
 Out of the Ocean, as it seem'd, that set 
 A perfect shape before mine eyes, and yet 
 
 Hid not the sky that did behind it lie ; 
 
 But, through its misty substance, all things grew 
 Faint, pale, and ghostly, and the risen sun 
 Gleam'd like a fiery globe half quench'd and dun, 
 
 Through the sere shadow which the spectre threw : 
 
 It answer'd me, " Man ! this is not the end ; 
 Progression ceaseth not until the goal 
 Of all perfection stop the running soul. 
 
 Whither through life its aspirations tend. 
 
 Spring from thy height, then, for till thou art free 
 From earth, thy course is narrow and restrain'd !" 
 I said, " No ! Spirit, nought were thus attain'd ; 
 
 Better pause here than perish in the sea ; 
 
 Man can but do his utmost — there's a length 
 He cannot overleap." The spectre smiled, 
 " Then trust to me ; for though the sea be wild, 
 
 It cannot shake the sinews of my strength, — 
 
 Within my breast the fearful fall asleep. 
 
 And wake out of their teiToi's, calm and still, 
 Having outstripp'd the speed of time and ill. 
 
 And pass'd unconsciously the stormy deep."
 
 144 THE LA^^D'S EJTD. 
 
 Quicker and quicker drew I in my Itreath, 
 " If there be land beyond, receive me now ; 
 I'll trust in thee — but, Spirit, -who art thou?" 
 
 The winds bore on a murmur, " I am Death !"
 
 THE OLDEN TIME. 
 
 O ! WKLL I mind the olden time, 
 The sweet, sweet olden time ; 
 
 "\Alien I did long for eve all day. 
 
 And watch'd upon the new-mown grass 
 The shadows slowly eastward pass. 
 
 And o'er the meadows glide away, 
 Till I coidd steal, with heart elate, 
 Unto the little cottage-gate, 
 
 In the sweet, sweet olden time. 
 
 O ! well I mind the olden time. 
 The sweet, sweet olden time ; 
 
 How all the night I long'd for morn, 
 And hless'd the thrush whose early note 
 The silver chords of silence smote 
 
 With greetings to the day new-horn ; 
 For then again, with heart elate, 
 I hoped to meet her at the gate. 
 
 In the sweet, sweet olden time.
 
 146 THE OLDEN TIME. 
 
 But now hath pass'd the olden time, 
 That sweet, sweet olden time ; 
 
 And there is neither morn nor night 
 
 That bears a freight of hopes and fears, 
 To bless my soul in coming years 
 
 With any harvest of dchght ; 
 
 For never more, with heart elate, 
 Can I behold her at the gate. 
 
 As in the sweet, sweet olden time. 
 
 For the sake of that dear olden time. 
 That sweet, sweet oldon time, 
 
 T look forth ever sadly still. 
 
 And hope the time may come again, 
 ^Vhen Life hath borne its meed of pain, 
 
 And stoutly struggled up the hill, 
 When T once more, with heart elate. 
 May meet her at another gate, 
 Beyond the blighting breath of fate, 
 
 That chill'd the sweet, sweet olden time.
 
 FATHER AI^D SON. 
 
 The King call'd forth his first-born, and took hira by the hand, 
 '' Come ! boy, and see the people you must soon command : 
 
 A bold and stalwart nation, dauntless in the fight, 
 Strong as an iron buckler to guard their monarch's right." 
 
 Then the trumpets sounded, and his vassals came, 
 Gather'd roimd his banner, loudly rang his name ; 
 
 Clash'd their burnish'd targets, waved their flashing steel ; 
 A goodly gath'ring look'd they, arm'd from head to heel. 
 
 " Child ! my heart beats proudly, now I feel a king, 
 As I look around me on this martial ring ; 
 
 There I see the sinews that support a state, 
 There I see the strength that makes a monarch great. 
 
 l2
 
 148 FATHER AND SON. 
 
 Men whose life is glory — men whose death is fame. 
 Living still in story past the reach of shame." 
 
 Many years pass'd over — ^the old King was dead, - 
 And his child, his fii-st-born, reigned in his stead. 
 
 Many years he reigned, and upon his brow 
 Now the frost of age lay like the winter's snow. 
 
 So he took his son forth, as his father had, 
 
 " Come ! and see thy people," said he to the lad. 
 
 And they rode together through the busy town : 
 Many a peaceful merchant passing up and down ; 
 
 Loud the workman's hammer sounded through the air ; 
 Portly look'd the craftsmen, standing 'mid their ware ; 
 
 And the soimds of labour, blent with cheerful song. 
 Told of peace and plenty as they rode along. 
 
 Smith and craftsman pausing, youth and smiling lass, 
 Txader, man and master, stood to see them pass. 
 
 With ii IjoiuhI lifted, and '' God bless him ! " said 
 By many a gentle bosom, many a reverend head.
 
 FATHER AND SON. 149 
 
 So the father turii'd him to his son and cried, 
 
 " Ai-e not these bold subjects worth a monarch's pride ? 
 
 In their own free circles, by their quiet heai-th, 
 Rearing him a bulwark steady as the Earth : 
 
 On their mighty anvils, with a giant's skill, 
 Bending; stubborn iron to his lightest will : 
 
 Prosperous and happy, free in heart and soul. 
 These send forth my glory to the fm-thest Pole. 
 
 "NMiere is there in story any fame above 
 
 That King's whose deeds are wTitten in his people's love?"
 
 ORION. 
 
 "A hunter of shadows, himself a shade." — Homer. 
 
 Oh ! wcaiy sleeper by tlie lone sea-shore, 
 \\licre billows toil for ever 'mid the rocks, 
 Scourged on by winds in stormy equinox, 
 
 Rise ! rise in haste, or slumber evermore ! 
 
 The stern Earth calls thee, and the Ocean mocks ; 
 Roll thy poor sightless orbs about the sky, 
 Through tears of blind and powei'less agony ; 
 
 Rise ! rise in haste, or slumber evermore ! 
 
 Ay ! blind I stand beside the lone sea-shore ; 
 Hearing the mighty murnnn- of the waves. 
 Shaking with giant arms earth's architraves. 
 
 Scaling the riven cloud-crags bald and hoai', 
 
 Surging hoarse secrets through the central caves ; 
 God ! shall lliinr ocean undiscerned roll. 
 Night on mine eyes, and darkness on my soul, 
 
 (jrroping for knowledge blindly evermore ?
 
 ORION. 
 
 151 
 
 Wild laugh the winds, Ho ! ho ! about my face ; 
 
 Heaven I mock me not ! — with night-struck eyes upraised, 
 
 Still fronting full the dome where once I gazed, 
 Yearns my unsighted soul tkrough dimmest space — 
 
 Befoi'e it let these earth-mists sink abased ; 
 
 Let me behold the All before I die, 
 
 Passing, swift-wing'd, into Eternity ; 
 Let me no more these shapeless shadows chase ! 
 
 Is there not Phoebus in the golden East, 
 Pouring forth floods of brilliancy divine. 
 That fire the spirit more than Jove's own wine ? 
 
 Arise ! and drain the droppings of the feast ! — 
 
 Heaven ! there's no East for these blind eyes of mine, 
 Staring the sun do^^^^ into black eclipse ! 
 WTiat hand will raise the chalice to my lips ? 
 
 Give me a child to guide me — e'en the least. 
 
 Then on I thou g-iant, child-led, through the land, 
 Tottering feebly with uncertain stride, 
 With heavy moans along the mountain side, 
 
 Groping the darkness wildly, staff in hand,
 
 152 OBION. 
 
 Staying, deep-voiced, the quick steps of thy guide ; 
 On! with wild sightless sockets to the sun, 
 Thirsting for the light-streams that around it run ; 
 Far on yon summit, turning eastward, stand ! 
 
 God ! let me rather die than thus, child-led, 
 Totter ahout the world, an infant's slave — 
 Ay ! die, and darkly slumber in the grave ! — 
 
 Peace ! proud one, bow thine unsubmitting head ; 
 
 Peace ! soon the light-streams shall thine eyelids lave, 
 And wash this barren blindness from thy soul, 
 Till these dark mystic vapours backward roll. 
 
 And leave all natui'e in thy sight outspread. 
 
 We are upon the summit now. Ho ! boy. 
 Place me where I shall see the sun arise, 
 ^\1icn its great glory lightens up mine eyes — 
 
 Oh ! that I thus should be an infant's toy ! — 
 Sec, now tbe morning streaks the Eastern skies ! 
 Ay ! boy, I feel tbe ligbt-spriiig bubbling up ; 
 My lips aie parch 'd, and thirsting for tbe cup 
 
 Tliat now biiins u]) my everlasting joy.
 
 ORION. 
 
 153 
 
 There is a low thin cloud along the sky, 
 That melts away apace to brightest gold ! 
 Ay ! boy, so shall my clouds melt fold on fold 
 
 Till glory flood my vision utterly. 
 
 The sun ! the sun ! I see it upward roll'd, — 
 Dav for the Avorld. but life, fire-life for me. 
 Smiting asunder Deatli's night-mystery 
 
 With lightning-blade of strength and ecstasy ! 
 
 Now, on to work and action, seeing clear — 
 
 Blindness swift throwing to Time's charnel-place — 
 Eyeing, unscathed, the Sun-god face to face ! 
 
 Ho ! light I more light ! dissolving sphere on sphere ! 
 Would that my very life could lighten space, 
 Shining out like some constellation bright, 
 Back beating all the myrmidons of Night, 
 
 With starry splendors flashing sword and spear !
 
 THE GOLDEN WATER. 
 
 [It is scarcely necessary to say that the following fragment is founded 
 upon the beautiful, and well-known talc in the " Arabian Nights," entitled, 
 "The two Sisters who were jealous of their younger Sister;" and the 
 reader need only be reminded that the two brothers of Perizade, Bahman 
 and Perviz, had previously gone in search of the treasures described by 
 the Devotee, and liad perished in the attempt, — the fate of the latter 
 having just been intimated to her at the comraenceraent of this episode, 
 by the fixture of the pearls in the magic cliaplet, which Perviz had left 
 her for that purpose.] 
 
 The days flow'd on, ami each day Perizade 
 
 At iiioiii and eve told o'er the snowy pearls, 
 
 That morn and eve ran swiftly through her hands ; 
 
 The days flow'd on — one morn the pearls ran not, 
 
 And well she knew that Perviz too was lost. 
 
 Tears doubled every head ; l)Ul, evermore. 
 
 Through j)ain aiul sorrow, ycarn'd liei' thirsting soul 
 
 For that far Golden Water in the l^ast, 
 
 TMk'ik'o one l)right drop would fill hei- fountaiT) full.
 
 THE GOLDEN WATER. 
 
 With glistening jets still rising in the midst. 
 She rose up straight, and donning man's attire, 
 For that the road was hard and difficult, 
 Took horse, and towards the smn-ise swiftly rode. 
 Saying, " Thus much life lacks of perfectness, 
 In God's name on to gain it then, or die." 
 
 She sped right onward nineteen days in haste, 
 Morning and noontide turning not aside ; 
 Then, as the next day dawn'd, afar she saw 
 The aged Dervise 'neatli liis lonely tree. 
 No other shape of man or beast in view, 
 Dull grey the sky, and moaning low the wind. 
 " O ! holy man, now tell me, for God's grace, 
 Where in the Land the Golden Water flows?" 
 He, lifting slow his head with locks snow-white, 
 And rheumy eyes, spake out with feeble voice, 
 " Good youth ! the place I know, yet ask me not ; 
 Bid not these aged lips the secret tell ; 
 That hath wooed on so many to their death. 
 Thirst for Earth's honours, for her wealth, her joys, 
 Thirst for the sweetest things beneath the sky. 
 But O ! thirst not for that far Golden Spring, 
 By many sought, by none ere found till now." 
 
 155
 
 156 TILR OOLDE.V WATKK. 
 
 She, softly, with her open hand upraised, 
 
 " Nay ! Father, fi'om afar I hither come. 
 
 And all my heart is set upon the thing, 
 
 So that there is no joy 'neath sun and moon, 
 
 No rarest charm can move me, lacking it ; 
 
 Tell me then all the dangers of the quest. 
 
 That I may measui-e well my strength, and know 
 
 If mortal man may meet it and o'crcome." 
 
 With sad dissentino- mien, and solemn voice. 
 
 That tremhled 'neath its hiu-den, thus spake he, — 
 
 " Fidl many of the good and bold have come 
 
 From every land the pilgrim-sun looks on. 
 
 All thirsting for this water golden bright ; 
 
 These darkening eyes have seen them all pass on. 
 
 But ne'er a one return ; and I am old. 
 
 Hear then, poor youth, and turn while yet you may ; 
 
 A mid-day's journey hence a moimtain stands, 
 
 Rugged and bare as outcast poverty. 
 
 With many a gap and chasm yawning wide, 
 
 "W'^ith many a rock to drive the climber back ; 
 
 And, lar al)ove, tbc summit hides in clouds, — 
 
 There springs the Golden \\'ater through the I'ock, 
 
 Brighter than sunlight in a summer noon ; 
 
 But as tlie weary seeker toils aloft,
 
 THE GOLDEN WATER. 
 
 Eude voices rush upon liira, loud and sluill, 
 
 xSow far, now near, but all with anger fi-aught. 
 
 Rough menace, insult, and hoarse mockery ; 
 
 "VMiereat the wondering cUmber, turning back, 
 
 In fury, or in fear, to meet the foe 
 
 Shouting loud threats e'en in his very ear. 
 
 Stands face to face with Death, and sinks transformVl 
 
 Into cold stone, 'mongst myriads more that lie. 
 
 And all day fright him with their dreary stare. 
 
 Ay ! he that setteth forth upon this quest. 
 
 And looketh ever back for friend or foe, 
 
 For cruel laughter, or for mocking jeers, 
 
 Tm-ns straight to stone like all beside his path ; 
 
 But once upon the summit, at his feet 
 
 Flows the pm-e Golden Water, bright and clear." 
 
 " This frights me not, O Father ; for mcseems 
 He is unworthy who should turn aside 
 For any mocking voice of man or maid ; 
 Then tell me quick the way, that I may on ; 
 !Mine eyes look only forward, and mine ears 
 Hear only the far flowing of the spring. 
 Two brothers there lie lock'd in stony sleep, — 
 I go to wake them on the momitain's side." 
 
 157
 
 158 THE GOLDEN WATER. 
 
 The DciTise laid his forehead in the dust, 
 
 " Allah go with tlu'C, since it must be so ! 
 
 Take thou this ebon bowl, and cast it down ; 
 
 The ball will roll before thee swift and sure, 
 
 Until it stop beneath the mountain's side ; 
 
 There stop thou ; and, dismounting, leave thy steed, 
 
 And climb the fearful hill ; but oh ! beware 
 
 Thy glance turn never backward on the way ! 
 
 Above, the golden fountain bubbles clear, 
 
 Wliose water, spiinkled o'er these dead black stones, 
 
 Will wake the sleepers from their chilly sleep." 
 
 With lips compress'd she took the ebon bowl. 
 
 And cast it on before the startled steed ; 
 
 Swiftly it roll'd, and swiftly foUow'd she ; 
 
 The road all desolate — no shade of tree, 
 
 No living thing about the dreary waste ; 
 
 No sound but of her courser's clanging hoofs. 
 
 His shaking tassels, and his measured breath ; 
 
 Afar, the mountain black against the sky. 
 
 Still onward roll'd the ball, until the sun 
 
 Stood midway in tin- heavens, a fiery red, 
 
 Looking tbiough clouds with liulf his glory quench'd ; 
 
 And then it stopp'd dose at the mountain's base.
 
 THE GOLDEN WATER. 159 
 
 Perizade straightway leapt from off her stfeed, 
 
 And threw the bridle on his arching neck 
 
 With calm caress, and left him neighing low ; 
 
 One glance along the mountain, black and bare, 
 
 With low mists creeping o'er its rocky sides ; 
 
 Mysterious exlialations veiling all the peak ; 
 
 Dead silence — O but for a passing wind 
 
 To mimic Life beside her living soul ! 
 
 Then upward with quick footsteps firm and bold. 
 
 Before her myriad dull black stones lay strewn, 
 
 Fearful to see, and know that souls of men 
 
 Lay prison'd in their cold and heavy frames. — 
 
 Sudden behind her spi-ang a mighty cry, 
 
 " Ho ! Traitress ! turn, or die ! " and evermore 
 
 Voices leapt out to wound her, like sharp swords, 
 
 With words of contumely, and mocking taunts, 
 
 Scoffs at her woman's heart 'mid manhood's o-uise. 
 
 Threats, rude defiances on every side. 
 
 At first she clomb, nigh stunn'd with wrathful cries, 
 
 Now at her side, whilst she would slirink in fear 
 
 To feel the sword's point pierce her fluttering heart, 
 
 Now fi'om afar, below her and above. 
 
 Till she scarce breath'd, awaiting o'erturn'd rocks
 
 160 THE GOLDEN WATER. 
 
 To crush her in their fiiry as she went. 
 Yet, minding well the Dervise, still she held 
 Her pale face forward, with eyes ever bent 
 Towards the misty summit far away. 
 
 More slowly soon her heart beat, and she laugh'd, 
 
 Like echo, at the scornful taunts and jeers ; 
 
 " Scoff on ! '' she cried, " How small a thing it is 
 
 That scorn pui-sue us like a backward shade, 
 
 A\'hilst there is still the broad sun on before." 
 
 Weary and steep the path through cloud and mist, 
 
 Piercing the darkness on an unknown way ; 
 
 But still she onward trod, and near'd the top, 
 
 ^Ticnce voices louder, fiercer ever came, 
 
 " Back, fool I intruder ! sacrilegious An'otch ! 
 
 Slay the mad climber ! crush her to the dust !" 
 
 Once stood she half irresolute, her ha)ids 
 
 Press'd hotly on her too oppressed heart ; 
 
 But still she thirsted fur the golden spring. 
 
 And with her soul made strength to reach the top. 
 
 Sighing, " Thus much Life lacks of perfoctness, 
 
 In God's name on to gain it then, or die ! "
 
 THE GOLDEX WATER. 161 
 
 Upon the summit totter'd she at last : 
 
 Far, far below the vapours tossin^'^; lay, 
 
 A great broad sea of heaving cloud and mist ; 
 
 And upward the clear sky, as soft and blue 
 
 As a child's heaven — the sun unveil'd and bright, 
 
 Ko wrathful voices hover'd round her now, 
 
 But low sweet music of ^Eolian tone. 
 
 With all the sadness melted into joy. 
 
 Unto the spring she bundled, breathing short. 
 
 And there the Golden Water bubbled up, 
 
 Like summer morning rising in the East, — 
 
 A crystal chalice sparkled on the marge. 
 
 She fill'd it from the precious tide in haste, 
 
 And raised the clear elixir to her lips ; 
 
 And then, as at a di'aught from Lethe's tide. 
 
 Her weariness pass'd from her suddenly, 
 
 And in her heart great peace and joy arose. 
 
 Then from the chalice pour'd she on the stones, 
 That lay all cold and black upon the path. 
 And at that mystic baptism, anew 
 Sprang up the chilly sleepers in amaze. 
 Their stony hearts back -melted into Life ; 
 Soon follow'd her a train of noble youths, 
 
 M
 
 162 THE GOLDEN WATER. 
 
 Gatlier'd from East, and "NVcst, and North, and South, 
 The rarest and the goodliest of Earth. 
 Bahman and Perviz, risen with the rest, 
 Walk'd at her side with Avonder-strickon hearts, 
 Gazing upon her through kind tearful eyes. 
 Each found his stood l)cside tlie niouiitain base, 
 And mounted, all that goodly company, 
 She with her crystal chalice at the head. 
 
 Then with her soft voice trembling through the crowd, 
 " Back let us to the world liom wlionce we came ; 
 And since that Life hath many Golden Springs, 
 Hath many joys to gain tlu'ough toil and doubt. 
 Still let us scale the mountain fur tlie prize. 
 And close our ears to Folly's wagging tongue." 
 
 They spurr'd along until (ho sun sank low. 
 
 And by the way arose the lonely tree, 
 
 A\'laerc sat the Dervise, rheumy -eyed and old — 
 
 Blood-red the westeni sky — the clouds back waved, 
 
 And one faint star pale glimmering m the height — 
 
 There found they still the Dervise 'neath his tree, 
 
 Where he had pointed them the Eastern way,
 
 THE GOLDEN WATER. 163 
 
 Now sleeping the last sleep with smiling lips. 
 " The Golden Water found, his task is done, 
 And now the Watcher calmly takes his rest !" 
 Then on in silence thi'ough the quiet night. 
 
 M 2
 
 YEARS AGO. 
 
 This day it was — Ah I years ago, 
 Long years ago, when first we met ; 
 Wheu first her voice tlirill'd through my heart, 
 ^ohan-sweet, tlirill'tl through my heart ; 
 
 And glances from»her soft brown eyes. 
 
 Like gloamings out of Paradise, 
 Shone on my heart, and made it bright 
 With fulness of celestial light ; 
 This day it seems — tliis day — and yet, 
 
 Ah ! years ago — long years ago. 
 
 This day it was — Ah ! years ago, 
 Long years ago, when first I knew 
 How all her beauty fiU'd my soul, 
 With mystic glory fill'd my soul ; 
 
 And every word and smile she gave. 
 
 Like motions of a sunlit wave,
 
 YEAES AGO. 165 
 
 Eock'd me with divine emotion, 
 Joyous, o'er Life's smiling ocean ; 
 This day it seems — this day — and yet, 
 All ! years ago — long years ago. 
 
 This day it was — ^Ah ! years ago, 
 Long years ago, when first I heard. 
 Amid the silence of my soul, 
 The fearful silence of my soul. 
 
 That warnino- voice of doom declare — 
 
 O God ! mimoved by my despair — 
 How her soft eyes would lose their light. 
 Their holy, pm-e, and stainless light. 
 And all the beauty of her beiiig 
 Fade sadly, s^viftly from my seeing ; 
 This day it seems — All me ! this day, 
 
 Though years ago — sad years ago. 
 
 This day it was — Ah ! years ago. 
 Long years ago, when dumb I stood 
 Beside that little grass-green mound — 
 Would I had lain beneath the mound I — 
 
 And gazed out through my briny tears, 
 
 Upon the futm-e lonely yeai's,
 
 166 YEARS AGO. 
 
 Upon the cold, bleak, cheerless years, 
 Till Earth should ope her grassy breast. 
 And take me to my welcome rest. 
 Where she in Death's cold arms lay prest ; 
 This day it seems — Ah me ! this day, 
 
 Though years ago — sad years ago. 
 
 This day it was — Ah ! years ago. 
 Long years ago ; and yet I still 
 Gaze tlirough moist eyes upon the Past, 
 The cherish'd, unforgotten Past ; 
 
 Gaze onward through the coming days. 
 And wonder, with a sweet amaze. 
 What sunrise with its ros}'^ light 
 Will bring her to my longing sight ; 
 What sunset with its golden glow 
 Will o'er the long-sought slumber flow. 
 Amid whoso A'isions she shall gleam, 
 As once she did tlnouo-h youth's sweet dream, 
 Ah ! years ago — long years ago.
 
 VULCAN. 
 
 From the darksome eavth-mine lifted, 
 From the clay and from the rock 
 Loosen'd out with many a shock ; 
 
 Slowly from the clay-dross sifted, 
 Molten in the fire bright-burning, 
 Ever purer, whiter turning — 
 
 Ho ! the anvil, cool and steady, 
 
 For the soften'd rod make ready ! 
 
 Blow, thou wind, upon the flame, 
 Kaise it ever higher, hotter, 
 Till, like clay before the potter. 
 
 Soft become the iron frame. 
 Bending at the worker's will, 
 All his purpose to fulfil — 
 
 Ho ! the fire-purged rod is ready 
 
 For the anvil, cool and steady !
 
 1G8 VULCAN. 
 
 At each stroke the sparks fly hrightly 
 Upward from the glowing mass ; 
 Hail ! the stroke that makes them pass, 
 
 Fall it heavy, fall it lightly ! 
 
 Now the stubborn strength bonds hiuiibly, 
 To the Master yielding dumbly ; 
 
 From the metal, purged and glowing, 
 
 Forms of freest grace are flowing. 
 
 Wield thine hammer well, strong arm ! 
 
 Strength to Beauty* wedded brings 
 
 Glory out of rudest things. 
 
 Facts from mei'e imajrinino-s ; 
 Strike from steel its hidden charm ! 
 
 Little reck the rocks the blow 
 
 That makes the living water flow ; 
 Little recks man's soul the rod 
 That scouro;es it thi-ouoh tears to God. 
 
 Vulciui was wedded to Venus,
 
 SONG. 
 
 The days are past, the days are past, 
 
 ^Tieu we did meet, my love and I ; 
 And youthful joys are fading fast, 
 
 Like radiant angels up the sky ; 
 But still with every da\niing day 
 
 Come back the blessed thoughts of old, 
 Like sunshine in a morn of INIay, 
 
 To keep the heart from growing cold. 
 
 The flowers are gone, the leaves are shed, 
 
 That waved about us as we stray 'd ; 
 And many a bird for aye has fled. 
 
 That chaunted to us from the glade ; 
 Yet every leaf and flower that springs 
 
 In beauty round the ripening year, 
 And every summer carol brings 
 
 New sweetness from the old time dear.
 
 GUY OF WARWICK. 
 
 An Spisode. 
 
 Autumn went faintly flying- o'er the land, 
 
 Trailing her golden liair along the West, 
 
 Weeping to find her waving fields despoil'd, 
 
 Her yellow leaves all floating on the wind : 
 
 And Winter grim came stalking from the North. 
 
 Around the coast rough blasts began to blow, 
 
 And toss the seas about in giant sport, 
 
 Lurkino- without to catch unwarv sails, 
 
 And snap their bellying seams against the mast. 
 
 So Guy lay idly waiting in the port, 
 
 Gazing out eastward through the stormy mist, 
 
 Gazing out eastward morn and closing eve, 
 
 Seeking: some break amid the hurtlino- clouds.
 
 GUY OF WARWICK. 171 
 
 But many days the same wind strongly blew, 
 
 Keeping his bark close moor'd within the bay, 
 
 Jerkino; the cable, like a restive steed. 
 
 And waiting thus impatient to be gone, 
 
 Looking out seaward from the dripping wharf, 
 
 Strange rumours fill'd his ears, from inland come, 
 
 How all the land aromid his native place 
 
 Was devastated by a mighty Beast, 
 
 Most terrible to see, and passing strong. 
 
 They told him how it slew both man and brute, 
 
 Destroying every living thing around, 
 
 Aiid laying waste the land for many a mile ; 
 
 And how 'twas thought no blade, by mortal MTOught, 
 
 Could cleave its way into the monster's heart ; 
 
 And then thev told him how his lord the King 
 
 Had late proclaim'd tbn-ough all the country round. 
 
 That whosoe'er should slay the noisome Beast, 
 
 Should straight be knighted by his kingly sword, 
 
 And honour'd greatly in the rescued land. 
 
 Yet none was found so stout of heart and limb, 
 To venture in this perilous emprize ; 
 " But ah ! " they said, supposing him far off, 
 ' If famous Guy were here, there were a man
 
 172 GUY OF WARWaCK. 
 
 Would rid us of this monster presently. 
 But as for him, he speeds away through France, 
 Bearing to other lands his strength, that, faith, 
 Were better spent at home amongst his kin." 
 
 And still the East wind bluster'd to the shore. 
 
 Kow Guy, whose cars still tingled all the day 
 
 With these strange murmurs of the troubled land, 
 
 Began to feel his heart with pity move; 
 
 And, for his soul still fretted at delay. 
 
 Like a leash'd hound that scents the flying game, 
 
 He straight resolved to take this quarrel up. 
 
 And for his country's weal to slay the Beast. 
 
 So he arose, girt on his trusty sword, 
 
 And with his bow iind quiver slung behind, 
 
 And at his belt his mighty battle-axe. 
 
 Rode calmly forth to slay the hurtful 13oast. 
 
 And no man knew tliat lie was Guy, for all 
 
 Believed him far away on foreign shores ; 
 
 Mliich pleased him passing well, " Because," he said, 
 
 *' 1 do this thing for Phcelice and the King,
 
 GUY OF WARWICK. 173 
 
 And none shall know but Heaven that sees the deed. 
 But when the country feels retiu'ning joy, 
 Her heart will flutter with a secret thought." 
 
 And all the land was desolate and waste ; 
 The fields stood rotting 'neath the Autumn rains, 
 And no man pluckt the sodden corn that lay, 
 Dead ripe, along the furrows 'mid the weeds ; 
 No cattle browsed upon the long rank grass, 
 Or paused to gaze upon him as he rode ; 
 The cottages, deserted all in haste, 
 Stood open-door'd and rifted by the Avinds, 
 With cold grey ashes scatter'd o'er the hearth. 
 Here he beheld the homely meal spread forth, 
 A\Tiich no man ate ; and there, upon the floor, 
 An o'erturn'd cradle, whence a mother late 
 Had snatch'd her babe up with a cry, and fled. 
 
 And all his heart was sore with what he saw, 
 For he met none to wish him once " God speed ;" 
 So he spurr'd onward swifter to the place 
 "VMiere lurk'd the monster that thus spoil'd the land 
 And long the I'oad seem'd to him in liis A\Tath.
 
 174 GUY OF WARWICK. 
 
 At last he came unto the fearful spot, 
 
 Mark'd with the blanching bones of man and beast ; 
 
 A tliicket planted by a lonely heath, 
 
 O'ergrown with brambles and unwholesome weed^. 
 
 That clasping trees around with witch-like arms, 
 
 Poison'd their life out, and still held them dead. 
 
 And at one side there strctch'd a stagnant pool, 
 
 Unstirr'd by any grateful breeze, but thick 
 
 With slimy leaves, and rushes all forlorn. 
 
 And every footstep on the spongy bank 
 
 Fill'd straightway with the oozing of decay. 
 
 The Beast hid in the bosom of this wood ; 
 
 And as Guy went he saw two eyes of fire 
 
 Burn through the darkness of the wood, like blasts 
 
 Sent from a smith's forge suddenly at night. 
 
 But, nought dismay'd, he bent his bow of steel. 
 
 And sent an an-ow whining tlnxuigh the loaves. 
 
 He heard the shaft ring on the monster's ribs. 
 
 And backward leap, as when a falchion strikes 
 
 Full on a warrior's casque with fiery force ; 
 
 Whereat with roaring horrible to hear. 
 
 Like stoim-winds belching through a cavern's mouth. 
 
 Forth nish'd the monster, furious and grim. 
 
 With open jaws and recking breath at Guy ;
 
 GUY OF WARWICK. 175 
 
 '\\\\o, leaping nimbly back, put forth his strength, 
 And struck her full between the eyes a blow 
 That made the stout axe quiver in his hand. 
 But, nothing hurt, the madden'd Beast rush'd on, 
 And nigh o'erwhelm'd him in her headlong course. 
 Denting liis breastplate, ^Tought of temper'd steel, 
 With the close home-thrust of her pointed horns. 
 But Guy, swift wheeling round his snorting steed. 
 Thought on his Phcelice, and, with mighty strength, 
 Launch'd forth a stroke that made the thick blood flow 
 In loathsome torrents fi-om a gaping wound. 
 So, cheer'd at heart, he thunder'd blow on blow, 
 Till, with a bellow of despair and pain, 
 The monster tore the earth, and, writhing, died. 
 
 And when Guy saw that he had slain the Beast, 
 He was right glad, and full of sweet content, 
 xind so he wiped his blood-stain'd battle-axe. 
 And rode with lighten'd heart in haste away 
 To bear the welcome tidino-s to the town. 
 And as he pass'd, or that he dreamt, or saw. 
 It seem'd as though the land bloom'd up again, 
 And sunsliine fill'd the air with hope and life.
 
 176 GTJY OF WARWICK. 
 
 And so he bore the tidings to the town— 
 And when the people heard the Beast was dead, 
 They gather'd round with tears and cries of joy, 
 And scarce found words to thank and honoiu" hlni. 
 And one brought forth her babe, and held him iij), 
 And cried, " Look, child upon him, that your soul 
 May know the fashion of a noble man !" 
 
 But still he told no man that he was Guy. 
 
 And all desired to lead him to the King, 
 
 But he would not, and turn'd another way — 
 
 " Nay! friends," said he, " I need no recompense, 
 
 For in the doing of a worthy deed 
 
 Lies all the honour that a man should seek." 
 
 And thus he tuni'd away unto the sea. 
 
 And woidd not taiTy, oi' for prayers, or teai'S ; 
 
 And when he came unto the quiet port, 
 
 He said no word unto his waiting men. 
 
 But gazed out seaward ; and the waves were down, 
 
 The clouds fast breaking, and the West wind blew ; 
 
 And many a sail sped swiftly o'er the main, 
 
 ^liite in the sunshine as a sea-gull's wing — 
 
 And so he went on shij)-board cheerily,
 
 GUY OF WAEWICK. 177 
 
 And thej hove anchor with a right good- will, 
 And spreading canvas to the welcome breeze, 
 Bore swiftly out into the open sea ; 
 And Guy stood silent in the dipping bows, 
 Gazing out seaward with a strange still smile. 
 
 N
 
 AT EVENTIDE. 
 
 The day fades fast ; 
 And backward ebbs the tide of light 
 From the far hills in billows bright, 
 
 Scattering foam, as they sweep past, 
 O'er the low clouds that bank the sky, 
 And barrier day off solemnly. 
 
 Above the land 
 Grey shadows stretch out, still and cold. 
 Flinging o'er water, wood, and wold. 
 Mysterious shapes, whose ghastly hand 
 Presses down sorrow on the heart. 
 And silence on the lips that part.
 
 AT EVENTIDE, 179 
 
 The dew-mist broods 
 Heavy and low o'er field and fen, 
 Like gloom above the souls of men ; 
 
 And tliroug'h the forest solitudes 
 The fitful night-wind rustles by, 
 Breathing many a wailing sigh — 
 
 O Day ! O Life ! 
 Ending in gloom together here — 
 Though not one star of Hope appear, 
 
 Still through the cold bleak Future gaze. 
 
 That mocks thee with its murky haze ; 
 Soon morn shall end the doubt, the strife. 
 
 And give unto thy M'eeping eyes 
 
 The far night-guarded Paradise ! 
 
 n2
 
 A DIRGE. 
 
 Winds arc sighing round the drooping caves ; 
 Sadly float the midnight hours away ; 
 
 Dun and gi"ey athwart the ivy-leaves, 
 Fall the fost pale chilly tints of day, 
 Ah me ! the weary, weary tints of day. 
 
 Soon the daikncss will be past and gone ; 
 Soon the silence spread its noiseless wing ; 
 
 Sleep will strike its tent and huiTy on ; 
 Life commence its weary wandering, 
 Ah me ! its weary, weary wandering. 
 
 Not the sighing of my lonely heart. 
 
 Not the heavy grief-clouds hanging o'er, 
 
 Not its silence can with night depart : 
 Gloom hangs o'er it ever, evermore, 
 Ah me ! darkness ever, evermore.
 
 TO MY DREAM-LOA^E. 
 
 Where art thou, oh ! my Beautiful ? Afar 
 I seek thee sadly, till the day is done, 
 And o'er the splendour of the setting sun, 
 
 Cold, calm, and silvery, floats the evening star ; 
 Where art thou ? Ah ! where art thou, hid in light 
 That haunts me, yet still wraps thee from my sight ? 
 
 Xot wholly — ah I not wholly — still Love's eyes. 
 Trace thy dim beauty through the mystic veil, 
 Like the young moon that glimmers faint and pale, 
 
 At noontide through the sun-weh of the skies ; 
 But ah ! I ope mine arms, and thou art gone, 
 And onlv Memory knows where thou hast shone.
 
 182 TO MY DREAM-LOVE. 
 
 Night — Night the tender, the comjjassionate, 
 Binds thee, gem-Hke, amid her raven hair ; 
 I dream — I see — I feel that thou art there — 
 
 And stand all weeping at Sleep's golden gate, 
 Till the leaves open, and the glory streams 
 Down through m}"^ tranced soul in radiant dreams. 
 
 Too short — too short — soon comes the chilly morn. 
 
 To shake from love's houghs all their sleep-horn hloom. 
 And wake my heart back to its bitter doom. 
 
 Sending me through the land down-cast, forlorn, 
 Whilst thou, my Beautiful, art far away, 
 Bearing the brightness from my joyless day. 
 
 I stand and gaze across Earth's fairest sea. 
 And still the plashing of the restless main. 
 Sounds like the clashing of a prisoner's chain, 
 
 That l)iiids mt', oh ! my IJeautiful, from thoe. 
 Oh! seu-l)ii(l, Hasliing past on snow-wliite wing*. 
 Bear my soul to her in thy wandering. 
 
 ^ly heart is weary gazing o'er the sea ; 
 
 O'er the long dreary lines that close the sky ; 
 Through solonm sun-sets ever mournfully.
 
 TO MY DREAM-LOVE. 183 
 
 (razing in vain, my Beautiful, for thee ; 
 Hearing the sullen waves for evermore 
 Dashing around me on the lonely shore. 
 
 But tides creep lazily about the sands, 
 
 Washing frail landmarks, Lethe-like, away, 
 And though their records perish day by day, 
 
 Still stand I ever, with close clasped hands, 
 Gazing far westward o'er the heaving sea, 
 Gazing in vain, my Beautiful, for thee.
 
 A NIGHT SCENE. 
 
 The lights have faded fi'om the little casement, 
 
 As though her closing eyes had brought on night ; 
 
 And now she dreams — All ! dreams supremely bright, 
 While silence reigns around fi'om roof to basement. 
 
 And slow the moon is movmting up the sky, 
 Drawing Heaven's myriads in her queenly train, 
 
 Flinging rich largesse, as she passes b}'. 
 Of beauty freely over hill and plain. 
 
 Ai'ound the lattice creep the pure white roses. 
 And one Ught bough rests gently on the pane. 
 The diamond pane, tlu'ough which the angel train 
 
 Gaze on the sister saint who there reposes ; 
 The moonlight silvers softly o'er it now ; 
 
 And round the eaves the south wind whispers lowly. 
 Waving the leaves like curls on maiden's brow ; 
 
 The peace and stillness make the place seem holy.
 
 A NIGHT SCENE. 
 
 185 
 
 The little garden where she daily strays, 
 
 Sleeps hke the precinct of a place enchanted ; 
 
 And many a flower hy her own dear hands planted, 
 Waves mystically 'neath the starry rays. 
 
 There is such strange still heauty in the spot, 
 That in the misty moonshine oft it seems 
 
 A vision that the waking eye sees not. 
 But some fair plesaunce blooming up in cbeams. 
 
 The dew distilled perfumes richly rise, 
 An d float unseen about the silent air. 
 Breathing a balmy sweetness everywhere, 
 
 Like some blest secret fresh from Paradise ; 
 Upon the soul dim thoughts of Eden press, 
 
 Withui the stUlness of this inner shrine,_ 
 "VMiere Nature has unveil'd her loveliness, 
 
 And to the angels bared her soul divine. 
 
 There is no sound upon the ear of Kight ; 
 
 The distant watch-dog's bay hath sunk to rest ; 
 
 The tlii-ush is brooding o'er his quiet nest ; 
 And the light clouds sweep on with noiseless flight.
 
 186 A NIGHT SCENE. 
 
 O heart, why beat so wildly — she will hear, 
 And start from slumber in serene surprise — 
 
 Away ! away ! why longer linger here 
 To mar the silence with thy swelling sighs !
 
 SONNET. 
 
 O CiiOUD so golden, stealing o'er the sky. 
 Like pensive thought across a virgin mind, 
 Scarce sadder than the sunshine left behind ; 
 Would that o'er heaven with thee my soul could fly, 
 Scanning Earth's beauty with a lover's eye, 
 Tracing the waving waters and the woods. 
 Their sleepy shades and silent solitudes. 
 Where all the summer through I long to lie. 
 O Cloud so golden stealing o'er the sky, 
 Sail'd I within thy bosom o'er heaven's main, 
 Methinks that, gazing downward on the glory. 
 The liquid loveliness of sea and plain, 
 Of mountain, isle, and leafy promontory, 
 Mv soul would melt and fall again in rain.
 
 FLOATING DOWN THE RIVER. 
 
 My little bark glides steadily along, 
 
 Still and unshaken as a summer dream ; 
 
 And never falls the oar into the stream, 
 For 'tis but morning, and the current strong ; 
 
 So let the ripples bear me as they will ; 
 Sweet, sweet is Life, and every sound is song ; 
 
 Sorrow lies sleeping, and Joy sends me still 
 
 Swift floating down the River. 
 
 Briffht shines the sun athwart the lindcn-trccs ; 
 
 One little cloud alone steals o'er the sky, 
 
 As o'er the widening stream below steal I, 
 Fann'd by the same faint perfume-laden breeze ; 
 
 JJird-music answers sweetly through the aii". 
 The unheard warbhng of heait melodies ; 
 
 Thus go I dreaming, free from faintest care. 
 
 Swift floating down the River.
 
 FLOATING DOWN THE EIVER. 189 
 
 Pure lie the broad -leaved lilies on the tide, 
 With glomng petals in the midst, that rest 
 Like the gold shower on Danae's lovely breast ; 
 
 And the tall rushes cluster on the side. 
 
 Ho ! sweet-lipp'd lily, thou must be my prize — 
 
 Thus shall 1 pluck thee in thy beauty's pride ! 
 Fail'd — all too steadily my shallop hies, 
 
 Swift floating down the River. 
 
 The stream fast widens, and upon the shore 
 Rise busy hamlets 'mid the falling woods, 
 Filhng their shorn and broken solitudes, 
 
 With labour's clamour ever more and more : 
 No more, no more in ckeams of love all day, 
 
 Rich set in music fi'om the forests hoar, 
 Now gaily speeds my imtoss'd bark away, 
 
 Swift floating down the River. 
 
 Let me take oar, and turn mine eager prow, 
 
 Back to the quiet waveless source again, 
 Where no harsh sound breaks on the dreaming brain, 
 And winds steal softly round the careless brow, — 
 Smft as a dream my tiny bark hath gone.
 
 190 FLOATING DOWN THE RIVETt. 
 
 And stoutly though I ply the oar, yet now 
 My weary shallop still goes sadly on. 
 
 Swift floating down the River. 
 
 Ah ! never more for me — Ah ! never more 
 
 Return those blessed morning hours again ; 
 
 The sun beats hotly on my throbbing brain, 
 And no cool shade waves friendly from the shore : 
 
 My feeble oar dips powerless utterly. 
 And onward, onward, though I struggle sore, 
 
 Still goes my bark towards the surging sea. 
 
 Swift floating do^vn the River. 
 
 Welcome art thou, O cool and fi-agrant eve ! 
 
 Welcome art thou, though night pursue thee fast 
 With thee the burning and the toil roll past, 
 And there is time to gaze back and to grieve. 
 Hoarse ocean-murmurs fall upon mine ears, 
 And round me now prophetic billows heave, 
 As on I go, out-looking through salt tears. 
 
 Swift floating doAvn the River, 
 SAvift floating to the Sea.
 
 OKPHEUS. 
 
 About the land I wander, all forlorn, 
 About the land, with sorrow-quenched ejes ; 
 Seeking my love among the silent woods ; 
 Seeking her by the fountains and the streams ; 
 CaUing her name unto lone mountain tops ; 
 Sending it flying on the clouds to heaven. 
 I drop my tears amid the dews at morn ; 
 I trouble all the night with prayers and sighs, 
 That, like a veil thick set with golden stars, 
 Hideth my woe, but cannot silence it ; 
 Yet never more at morning, noon, or night, 
 Cometh there answer back, Eurydice, 
 Thy voice speaks never more, Eiu-ydice ; 
 O far, death-stricken, lost Eurydice !
 
 192 OHPHEUS. 
 
 Hear' St thou my weary cries, Eurydice ? 
 Hearing, but answering not from out the past, 
 "VVrapp'd in thy robe of everlasting Hght, 
 Eomid wliich the accents flutter faintingly, 
 Like larks slow panting upward to the sun ? 
 Or roll the golden sands of day away, 
 And never more the voice of my despair 
 Trickles among them o'er thine unmoved ear, 
 Though every grove doth multiply the sound. 
 And all the land sigh forth " Em-ydice " ? 
 
 My heart is all untuned for evermore ; 
 
 The strings hang loose and warp'd for everaiore ; 
 
 The rocks resound not with my olden songs, 
 
 Nor melt in echoes on the tranced breeze ; 
 
 The streams flow on to music all their own ; 
 
 The magic of my \yi-c hath pass'd away. 
 
 For Love ne'er sweeps sweet music fi'om its chords ; 
 
 For thou art pass'd away, Eurydice ; 
 
 Thou tuner of my song, Eurydice ; 
 
 And there is nought to guide the ening tones 
 
 That once broatird but of thee, Eurydice ; 
 
 That made each breeze sweet with Eurydice;
 
 ORPHEUS. 193 
 
 And taught each fountain and each running stream 
 To sing of thee, O lost Eurydice ! 
 
 The serpent saw thee, O Eurydice ! 
 
 The serpent slew thee, Eurydice ! 
 
 Stealing amongst the grass, Eurydice ; 
 
 The long rank grass, that stretched Briarian arms 
 
 To clasp thee to itself, Eurydice ! 
 
 And soon they laid thee fiom the sight of men ; 
 
 Laid thee beneath the rankly waving grass ; 
 
 Opening Earth's portals wide to let thee wend 
 
 Forth to Plutonian realms of gloom away ; 
 
 And never more about the waiting land 
 
 Stray'd thy light steps at morn or shady eve. 
 
 No fountain hid thine image in its heart ; 
 
 No flowers leapt up to wreathe thy golden hair ; 
 
 No more the fawns within the forest glade 
 
 Follow'd a foot more lightsome than their own ; 
 
 The moon stole through the night in dim surprise ; 
 
 And all the stars look'd pale with wondering ; 
 
 For thou cam'st not, O lost Eurydice ! 
 
 Earth found thee not, O lost Eurydice ! 
 
 Love found thee not, lost Eurydice !
 
 194 ORPHEUS. 
 
 I could not stay where thou wert not. forlorn ; 
 
 I could not live, O lost Eurydice ! — 
 
 Not Acheron itself could frio-ht me back 
 
 From where thy footsteps wander'd, best beloved ! 
 
 And so I sought thee e'en at Hades' gate, 
 
 Charm'd wide its leaves with melody of woe. 
 
 And dared the grave to keep me from thine arms ; 
 
 I flow'd away upon a stream of song. 
 
 E'en to dark Pluto's grimly guarded throne, 
 
 Melting the cruel Cerberus himself, 
 
 The Parca;, and snake-lock 'd Eiimenides, 
 
 To pity of my measureless despair. 
 
 I sang thy beauty, O Eurydice ! 
 
 I sigh'd my love forth, O Eurydice ! 
 
 With tears and weary sighs, Eurydice ! 
 
 And at thy name the pains of Hell grew light ; 
 
 Ixion's wheel stopp'd in its weary rounds. 
 
 The rock of Sisyphus forgot to roll, 
 
 And draughts of comfort How'd o'er Tantalus : — 
 
 Then from old Dis's hands the keys slipp'd down, 
 
 Aiul words of hope and pity spake he forth. 
 
 He promised thee again if I would go, 
 
 Never haik-looking, from those realms of gloom, 
 
 Those realms of gloom where thou wert, best beloved.
 
 ORPHEUS. 195 
 
 How coiild I leave thee thus, Eurydice? 
 Without one look, one glance, Eurydice ? 
 And I perchance no more to gaze on thee. 
 Snared by some fatal falsehood from thy side ? 
 Yet strove I hard ; until at length I came 
 Where Lethe flow'd before me, faint and dim ; 
 Ye gods ! how could I cross it from my love, 
 That might wash out her memory for aye ; 
 That I should, live and dream of her no more ; 
 That I should live and love her never more ; 
 That I should sing no more, Eurydice ; 
 That I should leave her in the grip of Hell, 
 Nor beai' her forth e'en on the wings of thought. 
 And so I turn'd to gaze, Eurydice ! 
 1 turn'd to clasp thee, O Eurydice ! — 
 And lo ! thy form straightway dissolved away ; 
 Thy beauty in the light dissolved away ; 
 And Hades and all things dissolved away ; 
 Until I found me on thy cold, cold grave. 
 Amid the grass that I would grew o'er me. 
 Clasping us close within one narrow home. 
 Where I no more might wake and find thee goiie. — 
 The earih oped not unto my frantic cries ; 
 The por'uils closed thee from me evermore — 
 
 o 2
 
 196 ORPHEUS. 
 
 Else had I melted Hell itself with prayers, 
 And borne thee back to Earth triumphantly. 
 
 I cried, heart-stricken, on Proserpina ; 
 
 I rent the rocks around with endless prayers ; 
 
 T told her all the story of our love, 
 
 T launch'd my sorrows on hor woman's heart ; 
 
 I sought her through the barren winter-time, 
 
 The woful wiTiter-time for Earth and me ; 
 
 And, " Oh !" T thought, " her soul will soon relent. 
 
 And rush in crystal torrents from her eyes. 
 
 Till in the joy of sympathetic tears. 
 
 She woo my love from Pluto's ston^-^ heart." 
 
 I waited, and 1 question'd long the Spring ; 
 
 T question'd every flower and budding spray, 
 
 Tf thou didst come among them hack again ; 
 
 1 conjured each bright blossom, each gi'cen leaf. 
 
 That, leaving Earth, she bears full-arm'd to Dis, 
 
 But backward flingeth ere her glad return, 
 
 That every step of glorious liberty. 
 
 Fall upon flowers throughout the happy land ; 
 
 Put never came response, Eurydice. — 
 
 The flowers were dumb, O lost Eurydice ! 
 
 Thoy would not see thee spring from Earth like them,
 
 ORPHEUS. 
 
 197 
 
 Outshining all their fainter loveliness, 
 And so they left me to mj lom despair ; 
 
 O 
 
 She left me lorn, O false Proserpina ! 
 And never more may I behold thee here, 
 In Spring or Simimer, O Eurydice ! 
 By day or night, O lost Eurydice ! 
 
 They shall not keep me from thee, O beloved ! 
 Dis shall not keep me from thee, O beloved ; 
 But I shall shake his gates in my despair, 
 Until they open wide to let me pass ; 
 I'll take my life up like a mighty rock, 
 And so beat breaches in the walls of Time ; 
 I'll cast existence from me like a wrestler's robes, 
 And with my sup[)le, naked soul thi'ow Fate; 
 I'll snap the shackles whose Promethean links 
 Bind down my soul unto this nai'row earth. — 
 Dost hear my voice dim floating to thee now. 
 Along the waves that ripple at my feet ? 
 Thus do I come to thee, Em-ydice, 
 Through waving water-floods, Eurydice, 
 I come, I come, beloved Eurydice !
 
 TITO SCULPTOR. 
 
 The dieam fell on him one calm summer night. 
 Stealing amid the waving of the corn, 
 That waited, golden, for the harvest morn — 
 
 The dream fell on him through the still moonlio-ht. 
 
 The laud lay silent, and the new moAvn hay 
 Rested upon it like a dreamy sleep : 
 And stealing softly o'er each yellow heap, 
 
 T]\o. night-breeze bore sweet iueense-breath away. 
 
 The dew lay thick upon the unstirr'd leaves ; 
 
 The glow-worm glisten'd brightly as he pass'd ; 
 
 The thrush still chauntetl, but the swallows fast 
 Hied to their home beneath lone cottage eaves.
 
 THE SCULPTOR. 199 
 
 He had been straying through the land that day, 
 Dreaming of beauty as some dream of love ; 
 And all the earth beneath, the heaven above, 
 
 In mirror'd glory on his spirit lay. 
 
 And, as he went, from every sight and sound, 
 From silence, from the sweetness in the air, 
 From earth, from heaven, from nature everywhere, 
 
 Gleam'd forth a deep dim thought and clasp'd him round. 
 
 The thought oppress'd him with a weary joy, 
 Seeking for ever for its perfect shape, 
 
 « 
 
 That from his eager eyes would still escape, 
 Flatter him onward — then his hopes destroy. 
 
 He sought it in the bosom of the hills ; 
 
 He sought it in the silence of the woods. 
 
 Their sunny nooks and shady solitudes ; 
 He sought it in the fountains and the rills. 
 
 'O* 
 
 He watch'd the stars come faintly through the skies ; 
 And on his upturn'd brow the clear moon shone, 
 Flooding his heart like pale Endymion ; 
 
 But still the thought hid dimly from his eyes ;
 
 200 THE SCULPTOR. 
 
 Its voice came to him on the evening breeze, 
 
 That fluttered faintlv tlu-ough his summer dreams — 
 He heard it through the flowing of the streams ; 
 
 He heard it softly rustling through the trees. 
 
 Yet still the thouo-ht that murmur'd throuo-h his heart, 
 He found not anywhere about the land ; 
 Ne'er saw its spirit shape before him stand, 
 
 Though fi'om all nature it seem'd prone to start. 
 
 And thus he wander'd homeward, dreaming still 
 Of all the beauty that had haunted him, 
 With mystic meanings shadowy and dim, 
 
 By woodland, and by meadow, vale and hill : 
 
 He wander'd homeward, and in jnusing mood 
 Stay'd his slow steps beside a ni;ul)le block, 
 Hewn from some far unstain'd Italian rock, 
 
 That for his shaping chisel waiting stood. 
 
 Then his heart spoke out to him, " Not alone 
 
 This thought divine hides in the streams and woods, 
 Seeking expression (hrough their solitudes, 
 
 Perchance e'en lies it in this unhewn stone.
 
 THE SCULPTOR. 201 
 
 It may be that the soul which fills all space, 
 And speaks up to us fi^om each thing we see, 
 In words that are for ever mystery, 
 
 Within this Parian, too, hath resting-place." 
 
 He gftzed on, dreaming through the {Mm twilight. 
 And to his inner sight the marble grew 
 Clear and translucent, so that, gazing through, 
 
 A mystic shape form'd to his wondering sight, 
 
 That seem'd imprison'd in the Parian cell, 
 
 Seeking in vain release and utterance ; 
 
 F'or evermore, with upward beaming glance, 
 Framing the words its lips could never tell. 
 
 The vision pass'd ; but still with unseen power, 
 It stin-'d within his heart by night and day ; 
 And swift to hew the prison walls away, 
 
 The Sculptor toil'd, love-strengthen 'd, fi-om that hour. 
 
 He wrought with patience, and at length, amazed. 
 
 Beheld the mystic form all perfect stand, 
 
 Released in beauty by his artist hand, 
 He scarce knew how, and wonder'd as he gazed.
 
 202 THE SCULPTOll. 
 
 It was a lovely form whose lifted arms 
 
 Yearn'd towards heaven with all its radiant frame. 
 As though the soul within on wino-s of flame 
 
 Up from the earth would waft its angel charms ; 
 
 But still one touch retain'd it to the ground ; 
 So that the love that beam'd up from its eyes 
 Flow'd evermore towards the distant skies, 
 
 And yet to earth the shape remain'd spell-bound. 
 
 The dream fell on him one calm .summer night ; 
 
 And thus iu that fair form still heavenward turninfj 
 
 Eternal aspiration, endless yearning, 
 Stood now the Thought before his o-ladden'd sight. 
 
 TIIK END. 
 
 R. CLAV, I'JIINTER, BREAD STKEET UILI.
 
 EIDOLON, AND OTHER POEMS.
 
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